Of Blood & Ambition
by YunieEvie
Summary: One. There should be one and only one. So why standing before her, was there not one, but two black eyed children tainted with Lilith's blood? Distinctly, and at precisely the same moment, Jonathan and his double, both of them fair haired and dark eyed, smiled. / Just one demon child is bad enough, but what if there had been more tainted by Valentine's ambition? / ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue

_This steady burst of snow is burning my hands  
I'm frozen to the bone_

_I am a million miles from home  
I'm walking away _

_I can't remind your eyes, your face_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

Jocelyn looked shaken to her core.

Her hands, shaking, rose to clamp firmly over her own open mouth. Her green eyes, welling with fearful tears, drank in the fair hair, pale face and dark eyes before her.

She looked away from the horrifically identical dark eyes quickly; moving them over to her _very_ much alive son, her pallor now almost as white as the latter's hair.

_One._

There should be one and _only_ one.

Standing off to the side wordlessly, Clary knew what her mother was seeing; Jonathan's face, copied exactly into a more feminine guile. The sharp angles of his face were identical to those of the one that was before Jocelyn; a mirror image that at the same time, was dissimilar only by gender.

The only thing stopping Clary from running over to put herself between her mother and the two of them was Jace's hand; steady and firm on her forearm, it seemed to act as a balm to her anxiety.

"It's not your place, Clary."

Appalled, she spoke his name, ensuring she put every ounce of her outrage into the word. "_Jace_, that's my mother!"

He didn't respond; he didn't look at her once. Shaking his head in a silent, "_No_," loose golden curls falling into his eyes, Jace continued to simply watch the scene in front of him with unconcerned eyes.

_It's not your Jace_, Clary reminded herself, _again_. The frequency of how often she had told herself that seemed to have increased within the last few days, she realised. Her mother's voice, surprisingly steady, stole her attention away from Jace.

"This is impossible." Jocelyn spoke slowly and quietly, both words weighed as if she were sure of the truth in them, but also simultaneously doubting.

The dark gaze ahead stared Jocelyn out resiliently, the pitiless black depths almost holding a faint indication of amusement; _almost_; there was a nasty underlying sadism in them that seemed to engulf that humour.

From the side, Jonathan shifted, a trace of laughter colouring his voice and real amusement clear in his face. "Nothing impossible about it." he countered.

The sound of her son's voice, sure and resilient, seemed to snap Jocelyn back to herself between one moment and the next. "You two," she snapped sharply. "What _are_ you?"

Distinctly, and at precisely the same moment, Jonathan and his female double, both of them fair haired and dark eyed and _so_ alike, _smiled_…

* * *

**A/N**: Opening lyrics: "Iron" by Woodkid.

So, here we have a short and sweet prologue to an idea that's been drifting through my mind a _lot_ since Sebastian/Jonathan's return. If you haven't read as far (and finished) City of Glass onward, this story probably won't make much sense at all. Not that it does whatsoever in its current form, but hey. That was just the teaser/prologue. It's not supposed to yet ;)

Hm, so Jace is still possessed in this story. Poor guy. Also, you'll notice I refer to Sebastian as Jonathan. That's just a habit; I've always seen him as Jonathan Morgenstern since discovering the devious bastard's real identity. I couldn't give a damn if he _prefers_ to be known as Sebastian. Sorry demon boy. When I write you, you're Jonathan. And now, thanks to my imagination, there's more than one of you...

If you have time to leave a small review of your thoughts, it is always a great help and very much appreciated. Thank you.

Chapter one coming: March 2013.


	2. Erchomai

A/N: Before this all kicks off, these are some important things to keep in mind as you read. **Be warned**: major **SPOILERS** ahead if you're not up to date with **ALL** TMI books.

Firstly, as mentioned at the end of the prologue, Jace is still "possessed" by Jonathan in this fic, so he's not himself whatsoever. The whole "Clary and Jace escape from Jonathan and his league of dark warriors at the end of CoLS" situation didn't happen quite as it did in the book. For the purpose of this story, Clary escapes, but Jace does not. Therefore, he was never stabbed through with Glorious and is still for all purposes, Jonathan's bessie mate - I'm sure they're having a wonderful time watching Project Runway reruns together, lending each other's clothes and doing one another's hair. Yeah, right.

Secondly, you're probably going to be confused at some points. Maybe a lot. It depends how I allow things to unfold as time goes on, but regardless, things will explain themselves – eventually. I'll tie them together, promise.

* * *

_What if this whole crusade's__  
A charade  
And behind it all there's a price to be paid  
For the blood  
On which we dine  
Justified in the name of the holy and the divine_

* * *

**Erchomai**

_I am coming._

All said and done, to send such a note was all very well and good, but to neglect to mention _when,_ exactly, was simply maddening. Counting on, of course, the recipient being on the opposing side of the battle – which Clary was.

Well, she thought sharply, he was never going to tell them _when_; her brother was psychotic after all, not stupid.

'_Shame, that.'_

For all the words were spoken only inside the confines of her mind, they were still bitingly ironic. Clary knew that she was just spiting herself, but with the way things had turned out in the heat of the battle against her brother and his "dark" warriors, she no longer had any fight left in her for the moment.

It had been _so_ close; if it were not for the precisely aimed dagger thrown at her wrist, sending Glorious spiraling out of her hands, she might have had her Jace back. She'd seen the glance of confusion in his gold eyes; the way they had flicked down to where the blade had glanced out of her hands before shooting up to meet her gaze. Then, the moment was over and a hand had grabbed the nape of his shirt, dragging Jace away from Clary.

"_Come on!"_

The fierce hiss of her brother's voice as he'd hauled Jace away had been the last thing she'd heard, and Clary had stood there, body frozen and arms still in place from where they had been grasping Glorious, watching.

Then, they were gone.

Just like that, she'd lost him again.

Around her, the noise of the battle seemed to have died away between one instant and the next, and even Simon's voice in her ear or arm around her shoulders wasn't enough to steal her gaze from where Jace had been standing not a moment ago.

They'd nearly done it, but now that she was back at the Institute, feeling the loss of Jace hitting her all over again, she didn't quite know what to do with herself. She had almost lashed out at the gentle suggestion of Isabelle, who had pointed out that Clary could probably do with an iratze, which had been traced across her shoulder blade by a battle torn Alec before he'd rushed off to be with a still healing-up Magnus.

The visible wounds and exhaustion of everyone around her as healing runes were drawn and weapons and gear discarded had glanced off her as easily as if she were suddenly made of glass; she couldn't care what any of them had to say. There wasn't an ounce of compassion left in her to give.

All that mattered was Jace.

She was back at square one, again; back at not knowing how long it would be before she would see him again, not knowing where he was, or what he was being forced to do by Jonathan. All she could seem to deliberate on was the awareness that in between now and then, he was still for all purposes an enemy of the Clave so long as he was with Jonathan.

The storm was coming; that much had been clear for quite some time. A note scrawled in elegant Greek penmanship did not change that. The Shadowhunter's were on the precipice of a war and had been for quite some time; Clary could accept that now. What she couldn't accept was Jace being on the opposing side of the battle field to her.

It hurt to imagine it; the consideration serving to drain her of any and all ability to even pretend that she could care about anything but him, and upon getting back to the Institute, all she had craved was time on her own.

It hadn't been easy. She had attempted to excuse herself from being with her mother and the others whilst they spoke amongst themselves as soon as it became clear that nobody was about to start shooting questions her way.

Reluctant to let her daughter out of her sight again so quickly - and insisting that the Clave would want to speak with her - Jocelyn had called her back, to which Clary had claimed she was tired and wanted to change clothes and rest up. Looking less than convinced, Jocelyn had let Clary go with the warning that the Clave would no doubt summon her sooner rather than later.

Clary had merely nodded her head, holding a retort inward; the prospect of being interrogated by the Clave did not thrill her in the slightest.

As it was, the Clave had not called upon her; not yet, anyway. She was currently sat on the edge of a bed in one of the Institute's many spare rooms and had been for almost an hour. After disposing of the torn ceremonial dress with a certain vicious satisfaction and having stood under the hot blast of a shower, she'd quickly realised that she needed to do something, lest her thoughts and regrets from the past few weeks weigh on her even heavier.

Quietly, she had padded out of the room to retrieve her sketchpad and now sat with it balanced on her lap. Lying beside her on the duvet was her mobile, which had been going off periodically, flashing up Simon's number. He'd also made the effort to knock on her locked door a couple of times, but Clary had ignored him. She knew he would understand.

Since then, she had sat silently, absently sketching out her thoughts as they came. Mostly, they comprised of Jace; beautiful, glorious Jace poised in battle, fighting alongside an aggressive boy with hair as white as his father's had been and an expression to rival a fallen angel's.

_Jonathan. _

She hurriedly scratched out the latter as soon as she'd realised what she was drawing, leaving led imprints across the page. Suppressing a noise of exasperation when the led snapped beneath the force she was executing, she tossed the sketchpad and pencil aside, looking instead at the blank wall ahead.

In truth, she was angry.

_All that time she'd had._

All that time – and not only with Jace but her damned brother, too, and during it, not a thing she'd found out would be of particular use to the Clave. With a gaping hole sitting where all that useful knowledge should have been, she felt small, useless and woefully unprepared for whatever was about to happen.

Shuffling into the middle of the bed, she lay down, curling onto her side and shutting her eyes.

_Erchomai._

The single word flashed across her mind in bright, burning gold letters and she shivered, feeling suddenly cold and exposed.

Wearily, she thought over both the significance and arrogance in Jonathan's gesture of sending the Greek note to the Institute. Knowing about said note in the first place was pure luck on her part in any case; it had been a chance snatch of conversation floating down the hallway that had reached her as she'd left the room in search of her sketchpad. At the time, she had frowned: knowing Jonathan as she did now, she rather thought it suited him to do something so conceited; something so much like Valentine. Now, she was just chilled by the weight that the note carried, but ultimately bone tired, she curled in on herself, seeking sleep.

For now, only Hell knew what her brother was really capable of - and only Heaven might help them to escape it.

* * *

"Well, that didn't go quite as you'd expected."

Jonathan, pacing furiously, actually snarled. "Oh, _shut_ it!"

Wrangling the bow from his back and throwing it against the nearest wall, it barely missed Jace, who was leaning against the doorframe and tracing an iratze across his forearm. "Temper, temper." he mumbled, nudging the bow with a booted foot from where it had clattered to the floor.

"Temper?" Jonathan rounded, choking out a laugh that was full of nothing but the spite he was feeling. "You haven't _seen_ my temper yet, angel boy."

Jace frowned. "No," he said easily. "I'm sure that I haven't." Finishing the iratze with a well-practiced flourish - which had worked considerably better than the hasty one he'd had to draw when he'd been addressing Jonathan's Shadowhunter's - Jace rolled his sleeve back down and pocketed the Stele. "Anyway," he went on, despite Jonathan's open ferocity, "how long are you planning on pacing for? This is hardly as productive as sending the note to the New York Institute was."

"No?" Jonathan's voice, both ironic and irate, had reined in slightly, as if he had seen a stretch of truth in Jace's composure. "Then what are you suggesting?"

"I don't know," Jace replied. "But there was no need to leave Clary behind. You could have grabbed her, too."

Halting mid-stride, Jonathan levelled a mocking gaze on Jace. "Here we go," he began. "I knew this was coming. In case you hadn't noticed, she was on the verge on running you through with a blade, which, by the way, _I_ saved you from."

"Saved _us_ from," Jace corrected quietly, eyes resting just past Jonathan's shoulder. "She wouldn't have hurt me." He said quietly, although confidently. "I know her."

Jonathan laughed. "She was about to stab you and you _know_ it."

Silently, Jace struggled with the retort before shrugging the other boy's words as if they carried no weight whatsoever. Instead, he cast golden eyes around the room they were standing in. "So what's this place, then?" he asked, not without a certain lilt of sarcasm entering his dry tone. "Another one of Valentine's deluxe getaways?"

Jonathan nodded, undoubtedly ignoring Jace's derision. "It's nothing on the one Clary destroyed," he said bitterly, "but it'll do for until we're ready to take on the Clave."

"She destroyed it?" Jace's eyebrows rose.

"With a rune."

"And what about the Shadowhunter's we left behind on the battlefield?" he asked. "How are they going to find us?"

"I'll call for them when I need them." Was all Jonathan said, whose anger seemed to have abated for the time being, albeit faintly.

Jace almost smiled. "Assuming they'll still come running after that miraculous disappearance of yours."

"They drank from the cup," Jonathan pointed out. "They'll do what I tell them to." He turned, striding past Jace and kicking the cast aside bow at his feet as he went. "Come with me," he called over his shoulder. "I have something to show you."

* * *

Announcing that he needed to check on his mother and Rebecca, Simon had left the Institute with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and head bent against the wind. Of course, wind didn't really bother him, but his hair whipping across his eyes as he walked did. He could cut it shorter again now, he thought, since the Mark of Cain was no longer on his forehead. It was an odd relief for it to be gone, as well as slightly disconcerting that he no longer felt quite as safe as he had done when the power of Sevenfold had been on his side.

Still, it had been a fair exchange – the power of Glorious in exchange for the Mark of Cain. Not that it had done any of them much good as of yet, but it was still an element in their favour. At Isabelle's insistence that he be the wielder of the angelic sword, Simon had also been the one to carry it back from the battlefield, and in turn, he had been the one to leave it in the care of the Institute for the immediate time being.

Battle worn and weary, Isabelle had not voiced either her approval or disapproval of this decision, instead, letting Simon leave without a word. He had wanted to say something to her before he left; something significant or comforting, but nothing had come to mind. Instead, he'd pulled out his phone and tapped out a text to Clary, who had ignored his calls – both verbal and via mobile – since retiring to a room in the Institute. At least this way, she would know where to find him if she decided that she needed him, after all.

Thinking about it, his hand curled around his phone again, pulling it from out of his pocket to check on any messages Clary might have sent, when a familiar voice brought him up short.

"Simon?"

Lowering the phone, Simon squinted against the setting sun and looked ahead. "Oh, Alec." Leaning against a wall just a little way down from the Institute, Alec was looking a little worse for wear.

Noticing this, Simon tried not to rake his eyes over Alec too much, but it was hard not to notice the determined set of his mouth, the redness of his eyes, or the introverted way he seemed to be holding himself. "Is everything alright?" Simon asked.

"Fine," Alec's voice, now that Simon had consciously noticed it, was uneven. "Are you leaving?"

Nodding, Simon shuffled his hands from out of his pockets. "For a little while. Just want to check on my mum and sister."

Alec nodded, though he barely seemed to be paying attention. In fact, he did not respond whatsoever until Simon prompted him.

"Alec?"

"Is Isabelle home?" he suddenly asked.

"Yeah," Simon said slowly, feeling the prickling of intuition that something really wasn't right here. "She was talking to your mum in the library before I left, I think."

"Thanks," The word was out of Alec's mouth in reflex, clearly; he pushed off from the wall he had been leaning up against and mumbled a goodbye, leaving Simon staring after him, with the odd impression he hadn't just been talking to the Alec he knew fairly well, but with the reluctant and angry boy he'd known before they'd all met Magnus Bane.

* * *

As it turned out, despite feeling more exhausted than she'd felt in a long time, Clary just couldn't switch her mind off long enough to allow sleep to come. There was only so long she could lie curled up, mind teeming with angry thoughts, before she had sat up and reached for her sketchpad at the edge of the bed.

The first thing she did was pick up her mobile from where it rested on top of it, which had bleeped a text message tone not too long ago. It was a short message from Simon, letting her know he had left to see Rebecca and his mum. Knowing that she should reply, but not particularly wanting to, Clary flipped the phone closed and tossed it down the bed, pulling her sketchpad closer.

Legs crossed and with the broken pencil from before in hand, she tapped a rhythm out against the edge of her drawing pad. It'd be just wonderful, she thought, relieving even, if there was something; _anything_ at all, that she could divulge that would take away some of the weight of her failure to get any information from her brother or Jace. It was just a thought, though, even as she despondently moved the broken edge of the pencil across a blank page, taking no notice of the insistent way in which her hand moved over the page again and again.

Absently, she wondered why the Clave had not called for her yet; surely, like her mother had warned, they would want to speak with her, just to find out what sort of things Jonathan had spoken of. Clary couldn't see the point; the Clave might consist of older and wiser Shadowhunter's than herself, but she honestly couldn't see any usefulness or even mild insight into anything that Jonathan had told her.

Beneath her, the pencil continued to move, overlapping on itself repeatedly, leaving instead of led markings, an eventual clear indentation in the page where it had traced, over and over. Eventually, Clary moved her hand down, signing the bottom of the page with a single word before really taking in with a sudden and renewed sense of anticipation, exactly what she was looking at.

There, traced as a dented outline on the page was a new rune, and below it, a single word pressed into the paper:

_Reciprocity._

* * *

**A/N:** There we have it. Round one (ding, ding) up and raring everybody to go, go, go. Poor Clary, poor Jace, poor Alec, poor Magnus. Poor everyone in the entire book series at this point. Please, let a writer know how they're doing and leave a review.

Opening lyrics used: "Hand That Feeds" by Nine Inch Nails.

Well, again, thank you to everyone taking the time to read/follow/favourite/review.

Chapter two coming**:** March/April 2013.


	3. Stratagems & Misgivings

_You're keeping in step__, i__n line__  
__Got your chin held high and you feel just fine__  
__Because you do __what you're told__  
__But inside your heart, it is black and it's hollow and it's cold_

* * *

**Stratagems & Misgivings**

"You know," Jace began, hanging back in the doorway to what appeared to be a master bedroom, "when you said you had something to show me, I was foolishly thinking you meant some_thing_."

Jace's remark went ignored as Jonathan, back turned as he knelt down in front of an open wardrobe door, went on digging around the floor of the standing clothes space. Irritably, pushing back his white hair as he did so, he tossed out several armaments, sending them skittering across the carpeted floor.

Stepping leisurely into the room, Jace bent to scoop up a waywardly discarded blade, twirling it expertly. "A weapons stash? At least all this replaces the gear we lost with the other apartment."

"That's not what I'm showing you," Jonathan said. "These are just spares, there's a weapons room in the basement, like at the other place."

"So what exactly," Jace went on, tossing the blade up and catching it tip first between his fingers, "are you showing me? The suspense," he added, voice dripping irony, "is killing me."

Jonathan expelled a preoccupied sigh that was not entirely absent of irritation. "Didn't you ever learn the meaning of the word _patience_?"

"Of course. Not that I've recently brushed up on a literary quote from a credited source or dictionary, but, as I understand it, patience refers to the ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay." Here, Jace paused, his golden eyes trained on Jonathan's back. "Something which given a moment to think on, goes quite against my nature altogether, wouldn't you say?"

"If I didn't need you," Pushing to his feet with a small object sat in the palm of one hand, Jonathan smiled and told Jace pleasantly, "I would kill you."

Far from becoming concerned by the remark, Jace offered a smile in return, jerking a nod at the article in the fairer haired boy's hand. "That's it, then?"

Jonathan nodded, plucking the object from his palm and holding it aloft between thumb and forefinger for Jace to examine. "One of a few. There was more back in the apartment Clary destroyed, I just never really got around to showing you. There's some in the basement here, as well."

Brow furrowed, Jace leaned in for a better look, staring for a short silent moment. His eyes eventually flickered up to look at Jonathan. "Is that really what I think it is?" He asked.

"I don't know what you think it is, but it's useful, or so I hear."

"You hear?" Jace coupled his eyes with Jonathan's.

"Valentine said as much."

"You mean you haven't tried it out?" Jace folded his arms.

Jonathan's brow furrowed he stared steadily back at Jace as if the other boy's question was an unreasonable one. "Do you think I _could_ if I wanted to?" he asked unpleasantly, offering the object for Jace to take, which he did.

"Well," Jace smirked, holding it up and watching the way the artificial light in the room refracted through. "When you put it that way, I suppose not."

"Keep hold of it," Jonathan said after a moment, disinterested black eyes also watching the light as it played. "It might come in handy."

Cockily, Jace grinned. "I doubt it."

"You never know. It might _improve_ you, some."

"Maybe," Jace went on, still smiling, "but if you ask me, you're the one that needs improving, not me."

Jonathan also grinned, but whereas Jace's grin was pure cockiness, Jonathan's was the flash of a knife; all sharp angles and aided by glittering black eyes. "I'm already perfect."

* * *

The moment it dawned on her just what had happened, Clary was already in motion, sending her sketchpad flying as she flew off the bed. Grabbing for it, she stood staring at the new rune for a long time, tracing over the design with the edge of her finger.

"Reciprocity," she muttered aloud, understanding the meaning of the word, but not how it could be applied to a rune. "_Reciprocity?_"

There were runes for cooperation used by the Clave or individual Shadowhunter's in unique circumstances; perhaps when interrogation was a necessity, but with that said, Clary failed to see how a rune to depict reciprocal actions would differ in much respect from those that already existed.

Knowing that Isabelle or even more likely, Alec, would provide more information than her own limited knowledge could, Clary nearly cursed under her breath; how, given the circumstances, could she approach Alec, Isabelle or anyone for that matter and casually ask about cooperation runes? It was neither the time nor the place to be airing inquiries about such things, and aside from that, her friends were not dim; they would deduce with ease that she was up to something fairly quickly.

Scowling, Clary tossed the sketchpad back onto the rumpled bed cover, turning away as she started to weigh her options.

Something about this didn't seem right; she had a nagging sense that to show the rune to anyone was a bad choice, but she couldn't figure out why. Standing alone in a room desperately rifling through her own limited understanding of runes however, was not of help.

Of course, an easy way of finding out just what the effects of the reciprocity rune were did exist. All she had to do was draw it onto herself, but even as reckless as she was, Clary shook her head at the thought.

It was too much of a risk. You didn't just go about drawing mysterious runes on sentient beings; she'd already read up on the dangers and consequences - some which were graphically explicit - of drawing runes without full knowledge of application and use.

Thinking on it however, one thing that she was convinced of was that the reciprocity rune was not meant to be applied on oneself. Casting green eyes back at the drawing, she considered the very real possibility that it, just like other cooperation runes, it would most likely work when drawn by one Shadowhunter onto another.

Her speculation was all very well and good, but it certainly didn't solve the dilemma by far.

There was obviously a reason for why she had suddenly been gifted access to the knowledge of this rune, but what was it? Her runic powers had lay dormant for a while now, with no further angelic words having graced her mind, but here, completely unasked for, was a new one.

"Why?" she hissed the word aloud before even realising it was out of her mouth, but a second later, was glad that she had: only a moment before the rune had appeared, had Clary not been wishing for something, for anything that might have made her time with Jonathan and Jace not such a waste?

Was it not odd that as if in answer to the dilemma in her hands, the rune had presented itself? It couldn't just be coincidence, surely.

Heart flying inside her chest with renewed excitement, Clary dived for the sketchpad again, this time catching up her stele as well, suddenly certain that not only was it okay to show the rune to the others, but that the use of it was most definitely going to aid them in the fight against her brother.

Excited in a way she hadn't felt before, Clary hurried out of the room, wrenching the door open and barrelling down the hall in a rush of red hair and stamping feet.

* * *

When Simon had left, Isabelle had made a show of being in conversation with her mother. Not long after that however, she had caught sight of him in the large clear pane window as he walked away, and feeling somehow disappointed, had retreated to the kitchen.

Sitting alone with a mug of coco, she attempted to iron out the frown that she knew was visible on her face. There was no real need to be disappointed in Simon; he had no responsibility to stay with her, and aside from that, he had a family that Isabelle knew he worried over.

Taking small comfort in the thought that he would probably be back soon, Isabelle lifted the mug to her lips – and paused.

There was a thumping noise reverberating down the hallway outside.

Not really sure what she was expecting, Isabelle set her mug down and after grabbing the nearest kitchen implement on show – which turned out to be a butcher's knife – she leaned around the doorframe.

Heading her way in a cloud of red hair was Clary, who appeared to be cradling her sketchpad to her chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" Isabelle demanded, irritably tossing the knife onto the kitchen worktop as Clary came to a thundering stop, breathing hard.

"Izzy-" she started, voice shallow as she attempted to catch her breath. Without explanation, the redhead thrust her sketchpad at Isabelle, who with her brow furrowed, took it from her, straining her eyes to make out the picture there that had not been drawn, but pressed into the page.

As comprehension struck, Isabelle's dark eyes widened a fraction. "Clary, what is this?"

"A new rune!" Clary announced, voice echoing out into the hallway behind.

Abruptly in motion, Isabelle ushered Clary into the kitchen, hissing, "I know that, I meant what the hell are you doing drawing runes like _this_?" She brandished the sketchpad at Clary, who still slightly breathless from her run, managed to at least look confused.

"Why? What's it mean?"

The kitchen door closed with a click as Isabelle leaned back on it. "It means you're in trouble if anyone from the Clave sees it," She retorted in a rush. "By the Angel, Clary. You weren't by any chance about to show this thing off, were you?"

Approaching the kitchen table where Isabelle's mug of coco sat untouched, Clary threw another confused expression her way. "I drew it just now," she explained. "It reminded me of the runes for cooperation, but I don't know what it means. I was going to ask you or Alec-"

"No!"

Clary looked surprised when Isabelle's sharp voice cut her off, but said nothing.

"Clary, haven't you read about runes like this in the Codex? Don't you know what happens to Shadowhunter's who use them without strict permission from the Clave?"

"What?" Frowning, Clary quickly rifled through her mind for the correct information. "I know that you _need_ permission to use them and that they're only for use in very specific circumstances, but-"

"That's right, they are!" Approaching her, Isabelle set the sketchpad down on the table next to her coco. "Shadowhunter's can be stripped of their marks for using things like this, Clary. Unless there is dire cause, we don't use them; _ever_."

"Why not?"

"Because they're not like other runes; they can drive a person mad, Clary. Cooperation runes force the mind to go against the holder. If that person is deadest against cooperation, the rune can break the mind apart in a matter of minutes."

Cowed slightly, Clary did not reply immediately. Isabelle took a seat at the table, tossing back her long hair as she did so.

Cautiously, Clary spoke up. "Why would I draw something like that if it's so dangerous?"

"I don't know Clary, but you can't tell anyone about it."

"I drew it for a reason, Isabelle," she protested, turning to face the other girl. "Maybe it's a sign that we need to use it."

Isabelle, whose eyes were fixed on Clary's persistent expression, did not flicker. "On who? On you? Me?"

"Actually," Clary began, lowering both her eyes and voice as the thought entered her mind, "I thought of using it on Sebastian if it's as powerful as you say it is."

For a moment, Isabelle looked as if she had been physically struck, but she soon rallied, real anger in her voice. "How are we supposed to do that? In case you hadn't noticed, that bastard is nowhere to be found."

"When we do find him, then," Clary said calmly, knowing that Isabelle's anger at the drop of her brother's alias was perfectly justified. "It's just," she went on, raising her voice when Isabelle made a noise of protest, "you said that cooperation runes are only used in dire situations, didn't you?"

"So?"

"Well, doesn't _this_ classify as a dire situation?"

The rage in the taller girl's eyes softened slightly; apparently defeated, she sunk back against the chair. "It does, but I don't know, Clary. I just don't know about all this. We could lose everything; the Institute, our marks, each other." Expelling a sigh, Isabelle shook her head. "This could destroy everything we have."

"Regardless of whether it does or doesn't, one thing is for definite," Clary said, earning Isabelle's gaze once again. She looked back resolutely, voice echoing the resolve she felt, "unless we do something, Sebastian will destroy everything we have anyway."

* * *

Having dodged Maryse's question as to where he'd been, Alec had been making his way down the corridor in search of his sister when he paused; voices were coming from the kitchen. He halted in step, throwing a glance towards the door – which was closed. That was unusual in itself, but alongside raised voices, despite his preoccupation, Alec approached the door silently.

Letting out a breath as he instantly recognised Isabelle's voice, he placed a hand on the door handle and pushed it ajar slightly. His appearance was met by a sharp intake of breath; from where he stood, he spied both his sister and Clary, who judging by her open mouth, seemed to be the one who had drawn breath.

"Sorry," he said. "I heard Isabelle and just-"

"No, no," Isabelle vaulted to her feet, ushering Alec in and gesturing for him to close the door behind him. "Come in," she went on, despite his furrowed brow, "and look at this."

Isabelle pointed towards Clary's sketchpad while Clary, closest to the table, picked it up and offered it to Alec.

"What do you think about that?" Isabelle urged as Alec, confused when at first he seemed to be looking at nothing but a blank page with a single led mark on it, stared down at the paper in his hand. A beat passed before slow realisation set in and he lifted wide eyes to meet Clary's.

Unlike Isabelle, Alec did not lose his composure. He looked back down at the rune before glancing back at Clary. "When did you do this?"

"Just now," With an anxious expression, Clary was looking at the sketchpad instead of Alec.

"Clary, this-" He paused, not wanting to frame his words unkindly. "You do know what this is, don't you?" he asked.

Biting on her lip, Clary nodded. "Isabelle gave me the basic rundown about how supposedly evil I am for drawing it."

Isabelle, standing with her hands on her hips, tutted loudly. "I never called you _evil_," she protested. "I just said that-"

Alec shifted, stepping forward and raising his hand to cut his sister off. "This isn't the time," he said firmly. "Who else knows about this?"

Isabelle exchanged a look with Clary before she answered. "Just us, including you."

Alec nodded, face concerned as he looked over to Clary. "And what were you planning on doing with this rune?"

"Nothing," she said softly, but just as Alec felt a sense of relief wash over him, Clary spoke again. "Well, not yet. We haven't decided."

He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing; he could already sense that protesting against any course of action involving the use of the new rune would be met with nothing but arguing.

"I know it's completely mental," Isabelle input casually.

"Which explains why you're all in favour of it," Alec said, managing to at least sound slightly sarcastic. Isabelle tutted again, but said nothing further. Alec handed Clary's sketchpad back to her and leaned back against the closed kitchen door. "Well, whatever we're "deciding" to do, we'd better decide to do it fast."

Isabelle turned to face her brother. "Why?"

"Because when I got back, I overheard mum talking about how representatives from the Clave are going to be arriving soon," he explained, moving his eyes to Clary. "And you can bet they'll want to talk to you. If we don't do something soon, we won't be doing anything at all."

Clary's green eyes shone. "Then we leave," she said firmly. "Now."

* * *

**A/N: **Opening lyrics: "Hand That Feeds" by Nine Inch Nails.

This chapter needs a mini-disclaimer for a single line exchanged between Jace and Jonathan which is not of my own conception. When Jace proceeds to quote the dictionary status of the word "patience", the snippet: "…an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay", is the property of the website from which I quoted it directly from: (Apparantely, you can't post direct links on this website, but the source is , under the reference "patience".)

As always, thank you from the bottom of my black demonic heart for every read/favourite/review/follow. I'd be delighted to hear your thoughts on the story so far. In fact, I'd probably do cartwheels across my living room.

Chapter 3 coming: March/April 2013.


	4. Confessions & Innovations

_Once upon a time  
I ripped the wings from my spine  
But when I hide inside your eyes  
I still pretend that I can fly_

* * *

**Confessions & Innovations**

As it turned out, Clary's hastily drawn Portal had very nearly dumped the three of them right into Central Park's lake. Luckily, with it already being well after sunset, there were hardly any mundanes around to spy the blunder. That of course did not stop Isabelle from voicing her disapproval, even if Alec, looking sullen, had ignored it and Clary, busy fretting, had not heard it.

"We're lucky it's dark already," she commented, adjusting the weapons belt at her waist and glancing around the partially abandoned area. Throwing Clary a glance, Isabelle added curiously, "Where were you aiming for anyway?"

"Does it matter as long as were out of the Institute?" Clary replied distractedly, shoving a hand into the pocket of her jeans to pocket the stele inside.

"Normally, I'd say yes, but given the circumstances…" Isabelle trailed off, giving her brother a glance, who – still looking distinctly solemn – was absently messing with the few weapons that were thrust through his belt.

Before Isabelle could open her mouth to ask Alec if everything was alright, Clary cut in, looking at them over her shoulder. "What do we do from here?"

Isabelle shrugged a bare shoulder. "You're the one who nearly landed us in the lake, why don't you think of another genius plan?"

"Isabelle," Alec's voice, though quiet, drew both his sister's and Clary's attention. "This isn't the time or the place, come on." With a stride, he set off up the bank that would lead them away from the Central Park lake and onto the main path. As Isabelle and Clary caught up – the latter struggling to keep pace with the two other's long legged strides – Alec spoke up again. "Clary, do you think you could draw us Glamour runes? It's late, but it's not _that_ late, and mundanes are hardly accustomed to heavily armoured people casually strolling around."

"Um," Thinking back to her studies of the Codex, in particular the pages on Glamour and Glamour magics, she nodded an affirmation, pulling her stele out to put to use once again. "I've never used one before, but I remember the design."

"Here," Rolling his sleeve up, Alec offered his forearm and Clary bent over it, tracing the burning path of the stele across a patch of skin that was unmarked by other runes. Next was Isabelle, who also presented her bare forearm before taking the stele from Clary, who would have found it tricky to draw her own Glamour rune upside down.

"Okay," Isabelle began, handing the stele back to Clary. "What are our options? It isn't as if we have any idea where we might find Jace or Sebastian."

"We need to talk over what we know," Alec observed, raking blue eyes around the park.

"Then let's go somewhere we can do that. What about Takis?" Clary asked.

"No," Shaking her head and tucking a curtain of hair behind her ear, Isabelle frowned. "There's a high chance we'll be overheard in a place like that."

"And it would do us well to avoid places and people who might recognise us," Alec put in, looking troubled. "Once the Clave realise we're missing, they might issue a search. Staying unseen is our safest bet."

Clary frowned unhappily. "Then I really don't know what to suggest if we-"

"Can't we go to Magnus'?" Isabelle cut in, looking hopefully in Alec's direction. Surprised that she hadn't thought of it herself, Clary also looked over to Alec expectantly while Isabelle continued talking. "He's let us stay before, and he wouldn't sell us to the Clave."

As it was, Alec suddenly seemed twice as solemn as he had five minutes ago, not to mention somewhat paler. It seemed to take him a rather long time to answer, and when he did, he did so with his eyes cast firmly away, as if he were intensely interested all of a sudden in the surrounding greenery. "No. We can't just go running to Magnus every single time we need something, Izzy."

Isabelle nearly scoffed. "He is your boyfriend, Alec, it's not like he _cares._"

"Yes he does, Izzy." Alec snapped, earning shocked glances from both his sister and Clary in turn. "And for the record, he's not my _boyfriend, _either."

"Oh, what? Are you engaged now? About time if you ask me-"

"No, we're not," Speaking over Isabelle and for the first time since the topic of Magnus had been raised, Alec turned his eyes back to them. "We're not… Well, you know…" The sharpness was lost from his voice. "We're not seeing each other anymore."

Isabelle's eyes were very wide and very sympathetic all at once. "Oh, Alec. What _happened?_"

"Nothing," Alec said firmly, though by the insistence of his tone, Clary could tell that not only had something clearly happened, but also that Alec felt responsible for whatever it was. "Look, shall we just get off the streets? We need to make a plan, and preferably one that doesn't rely on other people helping us out until we know where to find Jace."

Isabelle still looked distraught, her deep eyes shining with emotion for her brother, but setting her jaw, she nodded firmly. Clary, who was also suitably shocked but avoiding looking at Alec out of respect for his feelings, began to walk, gesturing with her hand. The other two fell into step beside her. "Do you think we should call Simon?"

For all Clary's question was general, Isabelle was the one to pipe up. "Why? I'd have thought you'd be glad he wasn't here to get himself into any more danger for once."

'_Ouch'_, thought Clary. For all Isabelle's words were true, it didn't stop them from sounding keen. "I am glad, but he wouldn't want us to run off without telling him, either. He'll only worry."

"He went to see his mum," Folding her arms, Isabelle glanced up towards the sky as she walked. "I expect he'll head back over to the Institute to see you when he's done."

Clary frowned, inwardly thinking, _'More likely to see you, Izzy.' _Outwardly, she said, "I left my phone at the Institute. You should call him, Izzy. We can't just turn up at his house. His mum is already in shock what with finding out he's a vampire. I mean, she _knows_ me and everything, but I'd rather not risk it."

Alec seemed to jerk out of his reverie. "He told his mum he'd been Turned, then?"

Clary was nodding. "A few weeks ago, yeah. She didn't take it very well."

"I imagine not."

Isabelle, who had been digging in her pocket, thrust her mobile towards Clary. "Here. You call him."

Coming to a standstill, Clary did not take the phone at first. "Why don't you call him?" she asked, frowning.

"Because," Isabelle began, in a manner that very much suggested she was slowly becoming irritated, "This entire plan has been _your_ idea so far, and the same goes for getting Simon involved." She shook her extended hand, brandishing the phone.

Confused and feeling a little unfairly put on, Clary took the phone and began to type in Simon's number. When it flashed up in the saved contacts on Isabelle's list, she hit the call button and waited, folding her free arm across her chest. Nearby, Isabelle stood watching, her expression still fierce, while Alec, with his hands in his pockets, was looking off unhappily into the distance.

"Simon? It's Clary." There was a short silence as Simon responded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just listen, I have something to tell you, and there's something I need to ask, too…"

* * *

With Clary several feet away and engaged in her phone call to Simon, it left Isabelle standing with a dejected looking Alec, who for all was doing all he could to avoid looking at her, did not react when Isabelle came to stand close by. For a long time, there was nothing but the sounds of the gently lapping lake water just a way away and the general bustle of the city muted slightly by distance.

"It was my fault," Alec eventually said.

Knowing he meant Magnus, Isabelle frowned to herself. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I was so insecure," he explained, voice absent of self-pity; all that was in it was a trace of anger, if not disgust. "I spoke to Camille," he went on, catching Isabelle's confused expression. "We talked about Magnus. I wanted to know if there was something I could do to stop my growing old."

Isabelle was fighting the urge to look as sympathetic as she felt, but even with her jaw set, her eyes were still full of emotion. She had often thought about it herself, privately; naturally, Magnus was immortal, blessed – or cursed – to stay eternally youthful, whereas Alec would age and die like any other mortal. She knew that the thought must have certainly occurred to Alec, but she had never guessed he might have done something as drastic as to meet with Camille Belcourt. Instead of interrupting, she let him go on.

"Camille told me that the only ways I could stay as I am were the things we already know about – vampirism, and so on…" Pausing, Alec seemed to inhale shakily and weigh every word that came out of his mouth before he spoke. "So… I asked her if there was a way to take away someone's immortality."

Now, Isabelle couldn't help but react. Her eyes, already emotive, widened and her lips parted in shock. Had Alec been _that_ desperate? She had known he loved Magnus, of course, but she simply couldn't imagine he would have even considered doing such a thing. "You didn't do anything, of course." She said with certainty.

"No," Alec quietly affirmed. "I never would have. I went to meet her to tell her no, but she'd already told Magnus about it – sent him a letter. He followed me last night to where I was meeting her. He was furious."

Isabelle was quiet for a long time. She couldn't quite find words, but Alec didn't seem to be expecting any, comforting or not. He inhaled deeply, setting his nerves and turning to look past Isabelle where Clary was standing with her back to them.

Meanwhile, Isabelle, staring absently at the glistening lake water, found herself lost in thought. Of course she felt awful for her brother, and almost equally so for Magnus, but she had never given serious thought to the possibility that one day, mortality and immortality would part the both of them; not so _soon_, anyway. In the same moment, the odd thought that the same thing could happen to her and Simon struck her. Not that they were dating, not the way Alec and Magnus had been anyway, but still, the knowledge that one day, she would have to say goodbye to Simon too, left her feeling even more dejected and for some reason, angry. Before she could begin to think about it too deeply however, Alec's voice drew her attention.

"Do you think Simon will come?" he asked.

Isabelle began to nod vaguely, mind still far away. "Yeah," she said with knowing certainty. "He'll come."

* * *

Simon had been at home, sitting at the edge of his bed when his phone had begun to vibrate inside his pocket. Upon seeing Isabelle's number flash up, at first his stomach had tightened uncomfortably, but once he'd hit the call accept button and heard Clary's voice, the knot in his gut had instantly unwound.

From what Clary had explained, it looked like her, Isabelle and Alec had decided on a whim to go on what Simon had referred to as "yet another suicide mission" to find Jace. Concerned but completely unsurprised, Simon had asked Clary what the plan was and for good measure, thrown in a comment about taking up life insurance one of these days. Clary hadn't laughed. Simon hadn't expected her to.

Once he'd hung up on Clary, Simon had spent another few minutes in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom before donning a fresh change of clothes and striding back down the stairs. As it had turned out, his visit to see Rebecca and his mother had been time wasted since neither of them were home. He hadn't expected Rebecca, but since she'd taken the time to meet up with him not long ago, it stood to reason that she might have dropped in to see their mother before leaving. If she had, Simon certainly couldn't tell form a mere glance at the surroundings of the house. Then again, perhaps she _had_ come by, and that the reason his mother wasn't in the house either, was that they had gone out somewhere together.

Simon heaved a sigh; no doubt, if that was the case, Rebecca would be the one trying to convince their mother that Simon wasn't in any trouble and that, maybe, they both needed to talk to him, together. He fought back an unpleasant shudder; he had no desire to "talk" to his mother about his vampirism again so soon; not after the way it had upset her last time. Of course, leaving his sister with the burden of it was not fair either, but right now, he couldn't afford to be thinking about it at all.

Instead of meeting Clary and the others at Central Park, since Clary had said they needed a place to sit down and talk, Simon had suggested they come over to his house for the time being, since it was empty. After confirming it with Alec and Isabelle, Clary had told him they would make their way over straight away.

Now, however, hovering around in his own kitchen and waiting for them, Simon was feeling the onset of trepidation. It wasn't that he regretted asking them over, it was more the thought that by inviting them over, Isabelle would be here, in his house. She would see the place he had lived and grown up in, and for some reason he couldn't place, it made him slightly nervous.

As if on cue, his fangs slid out, digging into his bottom lip slightly. Restraining another sigh, he turned and left the kitchen, returning to his room for some blood to settle both his nerves and thirst.

* * *

Jace had been asleep for no longer than half an hour when a firm hand on his shoulder had awoken him. Irritably, he'd ignored Jonathan's commands for him to get up and at first, had remained lying stretched out on top of the bed, eyes closed. With the failed ceremony and the fight that had ensued afterward, he'd found himself in need of some sleep, but as it was, it didn't look as though he'd be getting any just yet.

Eventually, he rolled off the bed, left his new room with the door ajar and joined Jonathan in the kitchen, reminding the fairer haired boy that while he might not need as much sleep as normal people, Jace himself still did.

"You can sleep," Jonathan said sharply, "when we're done for the day. I want to know that everything went as smoothly as it should have done."

Jace immediately frowned, watching the other boy as he paced around the kitchen. "What?"

"Wake up, Jace," Jonathan demanded distractedly, throwing a glance his way. "You remember we met with Zazual, the Greater demon last week?"

Jace nodded tiredly, tousling gold hair from out of his eyes.

"Well, today is the day I agreed to meet and form a contract with him."

"Then why," Jace began in tones of limited patience, "are you here and not meeting with him?"

For all Jonathan was not looking at Jace, he still smiled as he spoke. "Lilith has sent someone in my place," he said, and for some reason that Jace couldn't place, the other boy seemed overly happy with this fact.

"Yippee," Jace replied ironically.

"When she's done, she's going to meet us here," Jonathan added, halting in his pacing and turning to look at Jace, smiling in a very odd manner. "In the apartment."

Jace raised his eyebrows. "How will she find us? And more importantly, how will she get _in?_"

"I expect there will be a way."

To this, Jace didn't quite know what to say. For a moment, he simply took in the strangely cheerful atmosphere that Jonathan seemed to be delighting in. "Well, you just let me know when she gets here then. I'd like to sleep now."

"No, no," Jonathan retorted, not missing a beat as he went on, excitement tinging his words now. "You need to be here when she arrives, Jace."

"Okay, but why?"

If he had been in his own right mind, Jace might have found himself regretting his question, but as it was, he was simply trying to figure out the cause of Jonathan's darkly evident joy, which apparently intensified as Jace's question was aired. "Because Jace, Lilith has given me something."

"What?"

"Someone just like _me,_" he said fervently. "Someone with the same blood as _me. _Lilith has given me a blood sister."

Staring and confused, Jace did not react at first. "When did you speak to Lilith again?"

For a second, a frown enveloped the happiness on Jonathan's face. "I haven't spoken to her. Not since the ceremony. She can speak to _me_, though."

"She talks to you?"

"Evidently, if she so pleases."

Again, Jace didn't quite know what to say to this. "Alright then… But what do you mean by that, anyway? A '_blood sister_'?"

Impatient but still full of fervour, Jonathan explained. "That she has the same blood as me, of course."

"Lilith's blood?"

Jonathan nodded, the fervour of excitement making the blackness in his eyes shine. "Yes, and she will love me," His voice now was persistent and sure, the cadence hinting at a darkness that only he could touch. "She will love me the way Clary _should_; as a brother. And then, Jace, our trio will be complete again." Not understanding fully, Jace merely nodded, watching as the fairer haired boy began to pace again, turning away as he did so. "And then," he went on, talking more to himself than to Jace now, "then we will burn down this Earth and all the things in it."

* * *

**A/N**: Opening lyrics used: _Special Pet_ by Otep. As ever, every read, review and so on is appreciated and I hope you're enjoying the story.


	5. Company for the Devil

**A/N**: Before we kick off, I just wanted to extend my thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. Your words are so kind and they really make me that much more determined to give you a good story! I just hope it lives up to whatever expectations you may have, and if there's anything you'd like to see less or more of, let me know! :D

* * *

_If I could start again  
A million miles away  
I would keep myself  
I would find a way_

* * *

**Company for the Devil**

Alec had suggested they approach Simon's house from the back, which wasn't really a problem for Clary. Over the years, she had lost count of the times she'd been grounded but had snuck out to see Simon anyway. Each time, she had entered through the back door and crept upstairs with Simon, effectively avoiding both of their mother's.

With a firm hand, Clary pried the stubborn back door open and whispered Simon's name into the darkness of the kitchen, Alec and Isabelle following her lead.

"In here," Simon's voice, familiar and comforting to Clary's unsteady nerves, came from the hallway. Clary did not turn on the kitchen light as she walked through. Leaning around the corner, she spied Simon.

"You said your mum's not here?" Clary asked, a tinge of concern to her voice. "It's getting late, where is she?"

Simon, who was also looking fretful, jerked his head in a non-committal gesture. "I was starting to wonder that myself," he confessed as both Alec and Isabelle appeared behind Clary in the small hallway. "She might be out with Rebecca to see a concert or something. Anyway, we shouldn't stay long in case she comes back."

"We won't." Alec spoke up from the back of the group.

Simon nodded in reply, but couldn't help but notice how Isabelle was looking not at him or anyone else, but at the family pictures hung at intervals down the hall. Feeling a little uncomfortable, he gestured to the kitchen, hoping to usher them all away from any more incriminating photographs. "Let's talk in the kitchen, there's more room in there."

Simon was the first one to take a seat at the kitchen table, followed by Clary and then Isabelle. Alec was the only one who remained standing sentinel, leaning against a worktop but still managing to look alert.

From the look of everyone's absent faces suggesting they didn't quite know where to begin, naturally Alec took the lead. "Okay," he started, earning the attention of Clary and Simon while Isabelle, clearly still somewhat interested in her surroundings, darted glances around Simon's kitchen. "We have no idea where Jace or Sebastian might be; that much is obvious. Clary, I'm sorry to ask again, but are you _sure_ there's nothing Sebastian might have said to you that might even give us a hint as to what his next move is going to be?"

Clary was already shaking her head long before Alec finished his sentence. "No," she sighed the word, looking not at Alec, but at the floor. "I've been racking my brain for hours, but he was careful with his words. _Very_ careful. He almost never talked about his plans because he didn't ever really trust me."

"Then what _did_ he talk about?" Simon asked curiously.

Clary opened her mouth to respond, but Isabelle cut in tetchily. "Who cares what the hell he had to say? He's a psychopath."

Sensing that the mood was about to deteriorate beyond the point which any of them might suggest anything useful, Clary dug into her pocket and produced a folded piece of paper, which she then pushed across the table to Simon. "There's this," she said as Simon took the sheet, unfolding it and staring at the design. It was from her sketchpad; she had torn the page with the new rune design out and stuffed it into a pocket before leaving. "I drew it back at the Institute."

"Reciprocity?" Simon spoke aloud, eyebrows knitting together. "So how does that work?"

Again, Clary opened her mouth to speak, but this time it was Alec who talked over her. "Think of it as a way to gain cooperation from whoever it's drawn on. We're not _sure_ that's exactly how it works since Clary just created it and nobody's ever used it, but it's reasonable to assume something of the sort."

"Right." Simon laid the piece of paper down on the table top. "I take it that we've got no idea how we're meant to use it, then?"

Alec shook his head.

"Alright then," Simon went on. "Here's for another genius query – where's Glorious? Did any of you think to bring it with you before you left the Institute?"

At once, Clary and Isabelle exchanged glances that clearly suggested that they hadn't even given a thought to the angelic sword. Alec, on the other hand, was shaking his head, but his blue eyes were knowing. "That sword was given to us – well, _you_ – by Raziel," he said. "I really doubt that four teenagers should be carrying it around with them. It'll be safer at the Institute. We don't even know where we're going. Bringing it with us would be risky."

"Well, technically I'm not a teenager," Simon spoke up, "I'm _undead_, and as you said, the sword was given to _me_, so…"

"Oh, shut it, Simon!" Isabelle snapped from his left. "Alec is right. The sword is safer at the Institute than with us. There are Clave members there right now. Mum will be furious when she finds out we're missing, so it's best that we haven't made things even worse by bringing an angelic sword with us, too."

For all Isabelle's outburst had quietened Simon, Clary was still looking anxious. "I don't know, Izzy," she said, "I have a feeling we may need that." In truth, all she was thinking about was what might have happened if her brother had not interceded and she had struck Jace with Glorious.

"Clary," Isabelle's voice now was kind, albeit a touch exasperated, "I know what you're thinking, but there's no proof that it would have worked even if you _had_ stabbed Jace."

Frowning at the other girl's blunt wording, Clary persisted. "It's not just that," she insisted, "and since when have we needed _proof_ of something working before we've done it? Everything we've done before now has been based on a whim or a feeling. It's always led us right in the end."

"That's not strictly true," Alec said, for all he was looking considering, "but I understand what you're saying."

Feeling mutinous for reasons she couldn't comprehend, Clary ignored him and instead took to staring at the kitchen table top, expression fierce. She knew she was behaving unfairly and she knew she was taking out her frustration from what had happened on the battlefield by arguing her point, but she was sure that in this case, she was right.

Eventually, when it became clear that no one else was willing to speak up, Simon decided to take the lead. "Look, does anyone have any idea where we can go? We can't stay here and if we can't go back to the Institute…"

"Prague," Clary said.

Everyone looked at her.

Simon frowned. "What?"

"We should go to Prague," she said, louder this time.

"Prague?" Even Isabelle was staring at her with open hostility now, but Clary didn't care.

"Yes," she said. "We spent a lot of time there when I was with Jace and Sebastian. I think he likes it there," she mused, frowning to herself as she thought back to the events of the past few weeks.

"So, Sebastian is just hanging about in Prague?" Isabelle asked, voice infused with venom as she thought about the boy who had killed her youngest brother. "What does he like to do? Go sight-seeing?"

Clary, who knew the question was rhetoric, merely shook her head absently. "Look, I know it doesn't make sense. I just have a feeling about it," she said resolutely, looking in turn at them all. "I know it isn't a very good reason-"

"It's no reason at all," Alec said, but looked back at Clary thoughtfully. "But like you said, more or less everything we've done has been on a whim or a feeling." For a short moment, he was quiet, thinking.

Isabelle, catching her brother's eyes, seemed to give in with a nod, recognising that her brother was usually wisest about these sorts of things.

"You'd have to draw us another Portal." Alec went on. "We'll be relying on your rune skills a lot from now on, Clary."

Clary nodded. "I can do that."

"Well," Simon said, "If we're going on vacation, let me just go pack my suitcase. Do you think we'll be there for a week or longer?"

Again, Isabelle shot him a less than pleased glance, but this time, said nothing.

"When are we leaving?" Clary asked.

"Now, of course," Isabelle said, standing up and raising her arms to slick her hair back into an up-do.

"No, wait," Simon said, also standing up, "I have to leave my mum a note." He said, looking slightly sullen. "If I'm gone for too long, she'll worry even more. I've put her through enough."

No one objected, and Simon hastily left the room in search of a pen and paper. The sound of him dashing up the stairs was clearly audible through the walls.

"Before we go," Alec said, earning Clary and Isabelle's attention. "There's something I'd like to do, as well."

Pinning her hair up with a sharp looking implement that she had taken from her belt, Isabelle turned to look at her brother. "What?"

"This is potentially more dangerous than anything we've done before," Alec said.

"Duh," Isabelle sounded mildly. "Just spit it out, Alec. What do you want to do?"

Usually, he would have looked anywhere but at the people standing in the same room with him, but this time, Alec's blue eyes were firm and unwavering as he looked steadily back at his sister. "I want to see Magnus."

* * *

"Tell me," Jace drawled from where he sat slouched in an armchair, one hand covering his tired eyes, "How exactly Lilith managed to make you a sister. Last time I checked, she can't even materialise physically in our world yet, so _how_ has she got the strength to perform magic so powerful?"

"Because she just _has_," Jonathan shot. He was leaning up against one of the kitchen work counters, and from where Jace sat in the living room, he could make out the other boy's profile thanks to the rooms being conjoined. "Lilith isn't _just_ a Greater demon. She's something else; something better. It stands to reason that she can _do_ extraordinary things."

"So, something far better than _you_, essentially." Jace commented.

Jonathan's eyes seemed to darken, but he did not rise to the bait. "Isn't it reasonable to assume that she doesn't have to be on the plain of this Earth to perform magic?"

Blankly, Jace nodded.

"And isn't it also reasonable to assume, that if she can do as much as that, she can at the very least also find a way to break the glamour's and magic of this house? At least for as long as it takes for my sister to find us."

"Your sister, your sister," Jace repeated, shaking his head. "Doesn't she have a _name?_"

Jonathan smiled. "Lillian."

Jace actually snorted. "Lillian – as in, '_the spawn of thy great mother, Lilith'_? How creative."

For all he was usually quick to reprimand Jace's satire, this time it went ignored by the white haired boy who had turned his attention to a stray book on the kitchen work counter. He held it up. "Were you reading this?"

"It was there when we got here."

"I didn't notice."

"No, well you were too busy kicking your bow around the floor to notice much. What book is it?"

"An old copy of the Codex," Flipping the front cover open, Jonathan caught the first couple of tattered pages that swiftly fell from the old binding. "A _very_ old copy," he amended.

Disinterested, Jace did not reply but closed his eyes, taking advantage of the fact that Jonathan had taken to looking through the old book in relative silence.

Idly flipping through the tattered pages with little interest, it took Jonathan a moment to notice the bookmark roughly three quarters of the way into the book. Curiosity piqued since the last person to read this book had obviously been his father, he turned to the bookmarked page, glancing over the familiar if not out of date contents before the title leapt out at him:

_Concerning: Runes for Cooperation._

* * *

In England, the time difference to New York meant that there was still light on the horizon; the rich, glowing kind that came just before sunset. The female walking briskly down an uninhabited street in London however, did not notice the light, nor the time of day. She was dressed neatly in dark but simple clothing and carried a single blade, the length of which was held up by a strap reaching around her torso.

Pausing briefly at the edge of an alley that gave precedence to an old, abandoned record store with badly boarded up windows, she turned into the mouth of the alley, stepping over long since cast aside broken bottles and other such rubbish.

Coming to stop a third of the way down, she turned on her heel, staring into the graffiti adorned alley wall almost as if she might see through it. She couldn't of course; but nevertheless, several long seconds of staring ensued until the ruined brickwork suddenly began to mould and morph, the shape of an open brick archway now accessible where the wall had been.

The female reached a hand up and over a shoulder, loosely gripping the hilt of the blade as cautiously and silently, she stepped under the blackness of the arch. The moment she was inside, the hole behind her closed up, swallowed back into the flat brick wall again. Instead of casting eyes behind however, the female stepped forward cautiously, booted feet unsettling years of dust and grime beneath them, and eyes adjusting to the low light of the room.

Between one step and the next, a sweeping shadow – darker than the natural shadows in the room - seemed to flicker from her left, carrying the breeze of a crackly, deep voice with it. "There is no need for hostilities."

The girl turned to follow the shadow as it moved, hand now secure on the sheathed blade, but stance quite unthreatening. "No, there isn't," she agreed, narrowing her eyes as the shadow seemed to evolve before them, unsettling dust as from darkness, emerged a small, frail and stooped figure; one that was undeniably human.

As she stared however, the glamour shook and ultimately, was not very difficult to see through. The demon ahead, posing as a feeble, elderly man with flyaway grey hair, was in reality, all sharpened yellow talons, huge unblinking eyes and dripping, jagged incisors. "What is this?" It said in the same crackling voice as before, its glamour now crumbling to reveal the full impact of its true physical form. "I was under the impression I would be meeting with Jonathan Morgenstern for the purpose of this transaction. You are not him."

"Well, I am and I'm not," the fair haired visitor said.

Clearly confused, the demon merely blinked its large mucus eyes once and went on staring, clenching its claws experimentally. "Do explain."

"No need." She waved her free hand carelessly. "It matters little which of us you meet with. The deal stands the same."

"I do not like being lied to, Shadowhunter. Jonathan Morgenstern agreed to a meeting of sorts, he mentioned nothing of a double to take his place-"

The female's head raised slightly and even the demon, intent on its tirade, stilled as its unexpected visitor spoke in a clear, firm tone. "I am no double. I am, however, a useful ally to have. As is my brother."

After a slight pause in which the demon's jaws gaped and closed in consideration, it reared up to its full height, spine straightening to reveal a torso edged with serrated spines. "As am I, Shadowhunter, if the price paid is satisfactory enough."

"There is no qualm over price, Zazual," the girl replied, lowering the hand that up until now, had been curled around her weapon. "We are willing to match the expense you expressed so long as you uphold your side of the deal, down to the last condition."

"Curious," the demon hissed, drawing out the last syllable, "how you so freely make deals with Hell when others of your kind would seek nothing more than the destruction of my kind."

"Yes, it is curious," the blonde smiled, "how blood calls to blood - and let's just say that perhaps we are a little more… _sympathetic_ to what being hunted feels like."

The demon made a noise that implied humour, though echoing through various cadences, it sounded nothing like normal laughter and more like the crackle of a flame. "You remind me of him," Zazual stated and then paused, as if to take the measure of the female before going on. "Very well. We have a deal to be bound in blood, Shadowhunter." It extended a claw and for the first time since entering, the Shadowhunter allowed the glamour to return to the creature, giving it back a human shape.

Shifting aside her coat and unsheathing a small dagger, the blonde lowered the tip to her right palm and drew a shallow cut there as the demon did something similar by dragging a single yellowing claw across the palm of its human hand, spilling dark blood. Extending to touch, the two gripped one another in a firm handshake, the slippery touch of blood coming away with each one. Drawing back her hand, the female flexed her fingers as an uncomfortable burn of heat temporarily worked the length of her lower arm, marking the completion of the deal.

"It is," Zazual began with a flourish, bowing shortly, "my obligation as such to serve you until our contract is at an end, my lady…" Breaking off, it rose up, expectant of a name.

"Lilli," the blonde said, smiling without real feeling. "My name is Lillian."

* * *

**A/N**: Opening lyrics used: "_Hurt_" (Johnny Cash version).

So, now we're getting somewhere. ;) For all he's a murdering bastard and doesn't really deserve it, I do love the idea of Jonathan having someone like him – someone with the same blood who really understands him. It's always struck me how people – meaning Clary and Izzy especially – have commented on how "lonely" he must be. Well, not anymore!


	6. Down to the Last Scar

_Tell me every secret  
So you can fall in love  
And then fall to pieces_

* * *

**Down to the Last Scar**

In the time it took to cross Brooklyn, it was nearing midnight when they reached Magnus's apartment block. Standing on the darkened path with hands in his jacket pockets and looking up at the looming building, Simon was the only one to express a little concern, even if it was spoken with sarcasm. "Don't you think," he said, "that it's getting a bit late for social visits? Magnus is scary at the best of times, I'd hate to wake him up."

"Worried you might get turned back into a rat?" Isabelle asked, arms folded across her chest and dark eyes pinning him where he stood.

For all he was very much wondering why he was the only subject of Isabelle's mood, Simon did not rise to her comment, but merely shrugged.

"Well, fear not," Alec put in, pushing dark hair out of his eyes as he too, looked up at the towering block in front of them. "The only one likely to be turned into something is me."

Isabelle's eyes flicked to her brother. "You going in alone?"

Alec shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm only going to talk to him."

Alec's sister nodded and kept her eyes on her brother for as long as it took him to ascend the front steps and press the intercom. From this distance, none of them could hear what was said, but looking at Alec's hunched shoulders as he stood with his head angled to the speaker, Isabelle at least, wasn't sure that she wanted to.

Up to now, Clary was the only one who had remained silent, watching from where she stood next to Simon. It was a long moment between Alec standing uncomfortably on Magnus's porch and actually being let in, but Clary felt a renewed wave of sympathy for him as he wrenched open the door and slipped inside. She wanted to voice her feelings, but when her gaze passed over Isabelle's expression which was etched with nothing but deep concern, she suddenly realised that it wasn't her place so much as it was Isabelle's.

Standing a little way away from her and Simon with her head bowed slightly and arms crossed, she looked very young and vulnerable. Glancing at Simon, who was also looking at Isabelle, Clary was reminded that they were all on edge in their own right and for now, acceded to the quietude that had fallen upon them in Alec's absence.

* * *

The last time Alec had felt so nervous ascending the worn stairs to Magnus's apartment had been on his first visit to see the warlock alone. Back then he hadn't really known what to expect, whereas now, he was reasonably certain about what would greet him.

As he turned the corner at the top of the stairs, creaking the old floorboards as he went, Magnus's apartment door swung inwards and the warlock leaned around the open doorway, his expression neither welcoming nor otherwise. Despite the late hour, Magnus was still dressed in day clothes, donning ripped dark jeans, and a two-in-one tee and dress shirt combination in a plum colour. The only glitter visible was in his messy spiked hair and smudged across his eyelids. He looked tired. Trying not to take in Magnus's appearance the way he usually would have, Alec fought down his nerves and stopped just short of reaching distance, shrugging his hands into his pockets.

When Magnus failed to speak, Alec struggled for a moment to find his own voice. "I'm sorry, I know it's late."

"It is," Magnus agreed, his cat eyes steady as they took in Alec's oddly tempered demeanour. He shifted where he was leaning against the doorway slightly, folding his arms across his chest.

Instead of looking at the warlock, which was something in itself that Alec found was oddly difficult to achieve in any case, he found it was much easier to stare at a fixed spot on the wall right next to where Magnus stood. "I wanted to apologise," he said. "Properly, I mean."

Magnus sighed quietly. "Alexander, you already apologised-"

"No I didn't," Alec cut in, shifting his eyes to Magnus. "Not properly, I didn't. I said I was sorry, but I didn't say it how I wanted to. I figured that you deserved to hear that before - well, just that you deserved it." Catching himself, Alec hoped that his very-nearly-slip in speech hadn't given him away as he looked at Magnus, the warlock's eyes giving very little away.

For a short moment, Magnus was silent, as if he were deciding what to say, but then he shifted again, breathing out in a resigned way. "I'll hear you out, but that's all."

Alec nodded, again swallowing back renewed trepidation as Magnus stepped aside to allow him entry to the apartment. Inside, all the curtains were drawn to and there was a low fire burning in the grate which Chairman Meow was curled up in front of. Since he had last stepped foot inside his ex-boyfriend's home, it seemed that Magnus had redecorated, which was something Alec had grown quite used to him doing. One side of the room was occupied by grand oak furnishings which looked to be at least several hundred years old, while the other, mainly taken up by more colourful tables and other such objects, looked distinctly more modern.

The front door shut behind them and Alec followed Magnus, who sat down in one of the oak armchairs in front of the leaping fire. There was a half drunk glass of wine sitting on the old coffee table in front of Magnus. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable in the place that he had considered his second home away from the Institute, Alec hesitantly took a seat in a free chair and tried not to look as tense as he felt.

"Alec?" The sound of his name was a prompt, which both broke the uneasy silence and redirected the Shadowhunter's gaze from the burning fire and onto Magnus, who Alec was slightly dishevelled to see, looked completely calm and composed.

"Everything with Camille," he started, words as direct as Alec had always been, "I need to explain it to you."

"You said you wanted to apologise," Magnus countered placidly.

"I do," Alec said quickly, "But to do that, I need to explain to you what I'm apologising for."

Looking ever so slightly weary, Magnus inclined his head and gestured for Alec to go on.

"I don't know what she told you in that letter she wrote," Alec began again, "and I don't want to know, either. The only reason I sought her out was because I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to lose what we had to my mortality and she said there was a way that she could make me immortal if I did something for her."

Magnus's eyes, which often looked so timeless and knowing, were both open and slightly hurt as he sat across from Alec, watching and listening carefully.

"You and I had talked about immortality before that, and you'd already said you'd never make me immortal – that you wouldn't do something like that. I thought that if Camille did it, you wouldn't have to feel guilty or…or whatever it was that made you not want to do it."

"Guilty?" Magnus sat forward in his chair. "You think the reason I refused was because it would have made me feel _guilty_? Alec, you are so very young. You have no idea of the cost of something like immortality. It isn't something easily given, and the payment in return is-"

"I don't care," Alec said, raising his voice. "I would have done it, whatever it cost, for you."

Magnus looked slightly shaken. He was quiet for only a few seconds, but when he spoke, his voice was firm. "You have no idea what you're saying, Alexander Lightwood. No idea of the consequences surrounding a choice like that."

"I said I don't care," Alec repeated, this time softer. Magnus went on staring at him, and Alec took a steadying breath before he went on. "It's not just about that. The second offer she made - she told me that there were ways to take away immortality – but I never would have-" he paused, blue eyes now resting on the fire in the grate. "I didn't know what to say to her," he eventually said. "I didn't know how to tell her that I couldn't have done something like that to you, that it wasn't my decision to make, or hers, or anybody's. Nobody's but yours – and I wouldn't have asked you to do something like that for me. The night I went back to see her, I wanted to tell her all that, but…"

As Alec's voice trailed off, Magnus watched him for a short time; watched the way the leaping orange flames in the grate reflected in the blueness of his eyes, gave colour to his pale skin and shone against his black hair.

"That night," Magnus said, bringing Alec's gaze back to him, "I told you that it was the fact that you had to consider her offer. You're saying that you never did that; that you left because you didn't know how to tell her no. You shouldn't have needed to do that, Alec." Magnus's eyes were knowingly sad, but tinged with anger. "If that was how you felt, it should have been easy to look her in the eyes and tell her no, but you _didn't_."

"I know," Alec said lamely.

"I warned you," Magnus said, "I warned you that Camille was a master of manipulation, but you didn't listen, Alec."

"I know," Alec said again and then, earnestly, "That's why I came here to apologise. It was wrong to even meet with her, I know that. I always knew that, but I-" He broke off, hoping that the desperation he'd been about to admit to wasn't plainly written on his face. "I didn't know what to do, and instead of talking to you, I did something that I can't take back. And I'm sorry. I will always be sorry."

Done with his explanation and apology which had ended up as a jumble of words that Alec was sure would never live up to what he'd hoped to say, he looked away from Magnus and back towards the fire. The Chairman was now lying on his side, stretched out on the carpet and purring quietly in his sleep. Alec stared at the cat until Magnus spoke again.

"I know that you're sorry," he said evenly, "I knew that you were sorry from the moment I saw your face that night. But you're also right in what you just said – you should have talked to me, but you didn't. You talked to Camille instead, and no - you can't take what you did back."

Alec nodded his head slowly and for the third time said, "I know. That's why I needed to apologise and I have done now, so…"

'_I should go.'_

The unspoken words seemed to hover in the air, unsaid but understood by both of them. Magnus was the first one to stand, followed by Alec, who traipsed unhappily back to the front door, which Magnus opened for Alec to walk through. Over the threshold, Alec turned back to face Magnus, opening his mouth to say one last thing, but Magnus, looking at him with mediating eyes, spoke over him.

"What did you mean by what you said earlier?" he asked. "You said you wanted to apologise properly _before_…" Magnus's voice hung on the air. "Before what?"

Alec blinked. "I did?"

Magnus nodded. "You did. And if I might say so, it's a little late for a simple social call, especially when you're so heavily armed."

Glancing down at himself and the array of weapons thrust through his belt which in all honesty, Alec had forgotten were there, he looked back up to meet Magnus's eyes. "Well..." Quickly, he weighed the pros and cons of revealing to Magnus what himself, Izzy, Clary and Simon were going to do in order to find Jace, and just as quickly came to the conclusion that since him and Magnus were no longer together, it really wouldn't matter what the warlock knew and what he didn't anymore. "We're going to look for Jace," he said. "Isabelle, me, Clary and Simon, I mean. I just wanted to see you to say what I did before we left."

Now, Magnus looked confused. "Nobody knows where Jace is. The Clave admitted as much before we left the battlefield."

"That's why we're going to look," Alec said.

"And I take it the Clave doesn't know _that_, either." Magnus observed.

Alec shrugged. "No, but we can't just sit around."

"Obviously not, because that would be the sensible thing to do."

Again, Alec shrugged.

"And you clearly trust me not to tell the Clave that you were here, or that I know what you're all up to," Magnus went on, looking at Alec with understanding in his green-gold eyes.

"Well, I trust you. We all do."

To this, Magnus said nothing, but continued to regard Alec to the point where Alec almost felt he needed to bid Magnus goodnight and turn to leave. The reason he didn't was that Magnus no longer looked angry, confused, hurt or knowing. He looked determined. "I swear to God, Alexander Lightwood, if you come back in anything other than perfect condition, I will hold that parabatai of yours wholly responsible."

Slightly surprised, Alec raised his eyebrows. "It's not Jace's fault."

"No, but what affects him affects you."

Alec swallowed back a sudden spark of confused hope. It was clear from his words that Magnus still cared about him, but any chance of reconciliation was completely irrational. "Well, I should…"

"Go." Magnus finished, when Alec failed to go on.

The Shadowhunter nodded and after a last look at Magnus, with his glittery spiked hair and haunting cat eyes, Alec turned to descend the stairs, doing his best not to lift his head for one last glimpse of the warlock as he closed the door to his apartment.

Unbeknownst to Alec, who had taken one last minute to steel himself before leaving to join the others waiting outside for him, above him and behind the closed apartment door, Magnus had leant back against it, standing with a hand covering his eyes. He stayed like that for a long time, absent of how much time passed while he fought away the image of the raw emotion in Alec's blue eyes as he'd sat before the fire and confessed everything.

By the time he moved away from the door and returned to the glass of wine waiting for him on the marked coffee table, Magnus found any appeal that had previously been in the drink was now wasted on him. Clicking his fingers at the fire to douse it, he turned away, leaving the sitting room in darkness and heading to the bedroom with an abruptly woken up Chairman Meow slinking in behind him.

* * *

When the door leading up to Magnus's apartment opened and Alec walked out, Simon was the only one who didn't look up. He heard the noise of course, but his mind had been on the note he had left for his mother back at the house. He couldn't help but wonder if she had returned home and seen it yet. Not wanting to leave it out in the open, he had slipped into his mother's bedroom and left it resting on her pillow, where she was sure to find it.

For some reason he couldn't explain, the consideration that she hadn't returned home to read it yet filled him with guilt, but regardless, as Alec descended the stairs, looking as solemn as he had before his visit to the high warlock, Simon refocused on the group, as they huddled around. Nobody asked Alec how it had gone, and Isabelle was the first one to tactfully break the silence by asking where they should go for Clary to draw the portal that would take them to Prague.

The query seemed to give Alec the distraction he needed, and after consideration, he suggested that they find someplace out of sight to both mundanes and Shadowhunter's alike. It wasn't as if mundanes could see portals in the first place, but they were all aware that should the Clave issue a search for them, a portal was the kind of thing they might look for.

"How about the back of some rundown building, then? Nobody's going to look there." Simon suggested. "There's a street a few blocks away from here that nobody lives in, we could walk there. It's not far."

"I'd rather it not be so close to Magnus's apartment," Alec said. "If the Clave does find the portal, they'll assume that Magnus might know something."

"Does he?" Isabelle asked quietly. "Know something, I mean."

Alec nodded. "I told him, but only because he asked."

Nobody looked concerned. Isabelle shrugged. "He won't say anything. Come on, let's start moving. We won't find anywhere by standing around talking about it."

With Isabelle taking point, they began to walk.

* * *

Having thoroughly read up on the out of date Codex's pages about cooperation runes, Jonathan had closed the torn and ragged book. Placing the book back onto the kitchen counter, he looked up with a question in mind for Jace, only to find that the latter was now asleep.

Sighing mildly, the white-haired boy walked over to the unoccupied chair facing Jace and swung a leg up over the arm of the seat as he sat down. In the past, Valentine would have rebuked him for such behaviour, but since his father was now dead, Jonathan lived with the grim satisfaction that he could do whatever he damn well pleased.

For a long time, he sat staring into space, looking thoroughly jaded before he turned his attention to Jace, who appeared to be resting quite peacefully. If it weren't for them being tied together by both blood and the binding rune, Jonathan would no doubt still have hated Jace as much as he had done for the majority of his life. It wasn't that the bond made him hate the angel boy any less, but it did mute the anger and loathing he felt towards the other boy to the point where he could at least enjoy his company.

From the time Clary had spent with them in the other apartment, he knew that it was not impossible for Jace to see past the rune and to return to his own mind, but given the pain it had clearly caused him, Jonathan doubted it was anything to seriously worry about. He wouldn't put it past the other boy if, in his right mind and still bound, he were to take up a blade and stab himself through to end both their lives, but Jonathan very much doubted Jace's ability to manage such a thing. The angel boy was weak where Jonathan himself was strong; he had always known that.

Casting the thought out of his mind, he leant back to rest his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes for a moment-

And between one silent moment and the next, the familiar noise of an opening portal drew his attention to the other side of the room, past the kitchen and around the corner where the apartment's hidden door was located. Jonathan was on his feet faster than even he anticipated, familiar habit having him reach for a pocketed blade before he realised that it wasn't really necessary. The only person it could have been, after all was-

"Lillian." His voice, normally composed, had risen to match his demeanour of shock.

"You look surprised," Lillian commented, tossing hair as white as Jonathan's from out of her face and deftly unbuckling the heavy sheathed sword strapped around her torso. Placing it on the kitchen counter next to the out of date Codex book, she turned black eyes on her brother, taking his measure as he took hers.

Of all the questions in his mind, Jonathan opted for the most obvious one. "Did you do that?" he asked, gesturing at the portal that had by now closed up behind Lillian, leaving a blank wall in its place.

She shook her head in denial. "Lilith did."

"And that sword-" he started, reaching out to trace the intricate design of the hilt.

"-is demonic in allegiance and also a gift to you from Lilith, yes."

Smiling now, Jonathan curled both hands around the sword, lifting it from the counter and drawing it cleanly from the sheath. The length of the blade was etched with demonic languages, all of them familiar to Jonathan, and it was almost precisely the same colour as the hilt; a dark greyish black which shone with a dimly glowing light that seemed to somehow darken the room they stood in. "This is…" Turning the blade over in his hand, he examined both sides with darkly pleased eyes. "…really something."

"So am I," Lillian said somewhat shortly.

Looking back at her, Jonathan inclined his head. "Of course you are," he said, returning the blade to its sheath in one swift movement. Laying it back on the counter, he focused on his sister. "You're me."

"In a sense," Lillian corrected. "I have a complete recollection of childhood, thanks to the observations Lilith made of you as you grew up, and I have the same allegiances and sentiments as a result."

For the first time, Jonathan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"That your memories have been imprinted on my mind. Without the knowledge and experience of what you endured from birth to adulthood, I would be nothing but a human shell without substance."

"So you have the same training as me?"

"Yes."

"And everything that I went through as a child, you went through, too?"

Lillian held out a pale hand for inspection, palm to the floor. "Right down to the last scar and whip mark."

Jonathan picked out the scars from used runes and old injuries as easily as if he were looking at the back of his own hand. In the silence, he took the opportunity to look at her properly from head to toe. "You look like me," he announced, taking in the same black eyes, shock of white hair and delicately curved cheekbones.

"Lilith made me in your image," Lillian said, and with a mechanical charm, added, "And if I do look like you, I'm very pretty. As far as demons go aesthetically, anyway."

Jonathan made a short noise of amusement. He followed Lillian with his eyes as she moved through the room, focusing on Jace, who was still soundly asleep in the armchair. "He's very pretty, as well," she observed, looking at the way Jace was slouched carelessly, face peaceful and defenceless in sleep. With an odd lilt to her voice that darkened the tone a little, she added, "He looks like an Angel."

"Yes," Jonathan said, the same dark tone easily traceable. "He's the little angel boy."

"He doesn't look very little to me."

"That's because you're short," Jonathan said harmlessly, coming over to stand beside her. He really was a lot taller than Lillian, which was odd given how alike they were otherwise. "Like Clary." He added, looking down at her.

"Nobody's perfect."

"I am," Jonathan said mildly, as if it were something he'd long since come to accept as factual.

"Perhaps you are, brother." Lillian said, an ironic edge to her voice which Jonathan abruptly flashed an equally sardonic grin at.

"I told him to stay awake," Jonathan said, not being particularly careful to keep his voice down as Jace slept on. "I wanted him to meet you."

"He can meet me tomorrow," Lillian said, eyes still taking in Jace's still form from where she stood looking down at him. With a turn of her head, she caught her brother's eyes. "The blood bond I made with Zazual has made me tired," she said. "Where's my bedroom?"

"What makes you think there's one free?" Jonathan asked, to which Lillian, smiling knowingly, did not answer. "Come with me," he eventually acquiesced. "I'll show you."

* * *

**A/N**: Opening lyrics used, "Special Pet" by Otep.

There's a little too much going on here than I'd initially anticipated putting in one chapter, but in the end, I think it all tied together pretty nicely. The main goal was getting some Malec feels (those two KILL me every time) and finally having Jonathan meet his brand spanking shiny new sibling, fresh out of Hell.

As always and ever, thank you for every read, review, follow and so on, so forth. You guys are super supportive and have said some really lovely things and I hope you all know how much they really mean. I love hearing from you, so please keep in touch!


	7. Linger in Shadows

"_The moon illuminates our final night."_

* * *

**Linger in Shadows**

At sunrise, Prague was strikingly beautiful. Clary, standing alone at the centre of an aged stone bridge, could recall standing in the very same place not so long ago with Jace. They had stood in relative silence, looking out over the calm city as the sun had slowly risen, bathing the city and them in a warm wash of gold.

Now, Clary was mimicking the same event, but this time by herself. Before now, even with her brother not far away, she had felt relatively peaceful with Jace at her side, but right now, she could feel nothing but a coldly certain unease. It was as if even the warmth cast down from the sun's rays could not touch her.

Without Jace, the city seemed foreign to her; a feeling she had never really had when accompanied by him. She supposed it was his well versed knowledge of places he had read up on that made each destination feel not quite as unfamiliar as it should have done. But even now, with Alec, Isabelle and Simon with her, Clary couldn't shake the feeling that she was in a strange place and surrounded by a culture she didn't understand.

The others were standing a way off from her, over the other side of the bridge, grouped together while they continued to discuss their next plan of action – or, at least _tried_ to discuss it anyhow. When Clary had wandered away, it had been down to Isabelle's constant shooting down of Simon's ideas. It had started to get to her before now, but this time she'd found it difficult not to leap to Simon's defence. Save doing so, she had walked off, ignoring Alec's questioning glance as she turned her back. Simon himself didn't appear all that concerned by Isabelle's baiting - probably because Alec had sided with his idea already - but Clary still preferred the illusion of solitude that she'd given herself while the three of them finished debating out the details.

In any case, debate or not, it wasn't long before Simon's familiar form came into sight as he leant over the side of the bridge next to Clary. He pulled on the strap of his shoulder bag, adjusting the weight around his shoulder and Clary did a double take, noticing the bag for the first time.

"Is that your blood supply?" she asked, eyebrows knitting together.

Simon nodded. "Gross, I know."

Clary shrugged her shoulder nonchalantly. "Not really."

Simon flashed a smile that clearly communicated his disbelief of her casual denial, but did not press the issue. "We're going to rent a hotel room," he informed her quietly, looking straight ahead into the sun and squinting.

Simon knew that it wouldn't really do to be seen standing around talking to himself – Alec had warned him that him, Isabelle and Clary had all cast glamour's over themselves already, so Simon had been left with the not so easy task of looking like he wasn't talking, walking or standing with people that nobody else could see - a feat that would have proven more difficult had Prague's streets been busier than they were.

"Like you suggested," Clary said, somewhat unenthusiastically. "It's the only thing we _can_ do since we're in another country where we don't know anyone. Where _else_ can we stay?"

Simon nodded minutely, already knowing full well that Clary had been wound up by Isabelle's attitude. "Well, we should get moving now. It'll be fully light soon and I have to check us in to the hotel since I'm the only one of us who is decidedly not invisible."

Clary heaved a sigh, turning her back on the sun. "How are we going to pay? We don't have the right currency with us."

Simon looked amused. "They do instant cash conversions now, Clary. Have done for quite a few years."

"Oh." Clary, who was not accustomed to travel, was genuinely surprised to learn this.

"Plus, if we felt like turning this into a holiday, we could hire a suite out. Get a little champagne from the mini-bar, have ourselves a little swaray."

Clary smiled wanly. She appreciated the fact that Simon was being so light hearted over everything, but she couldn't shake off her feelings of apprehension. "This isn't a holiday," she said, "and we can't afford things like that."

"I think you'll find we can. Alec brought enough cash with him to keep us going for half a year, by the looks of it."

Clary raised her eyebrows. "Where did he get that much - oh," she nodded in understanding. "The Institute's stocks. Right."

"Mhm," Simon pushed off from the bridge, lowering his head as he and Clary began to walk over to where Alec and Isabelle were waiting. Simon mechanically took note of Isabelle's posture; she was standing very straight, arms folded and appeared to be thinking about something very hard. Alec meanwhile, was absorbed by what Simon assumed to be his mobile phone. Both of them gleamed in the rising sun, the metal of their Shadowhunter gear glinting and winking with their movements.

As they neared, Isabelle opened her mouth to speak. "You shouldn't use that," she commented, looking down at her brother's phone. "The Clave could trace it."

"And how are they going to do that?" Alec asked, tone hinting at his aggravation; it appeared that Clary was not the only one who had had enough of Isabelle's temper. "I could point out that the Clave could very well be tracing us right _now_. It wouldn't be hard to track us, especially not you or me, Izzy. We _live_ at the Institute. Think how many personal objects we've left behind that they could use-"

"Oh, alright. Let's just get off the streets." Isabelle interjected vehemently.

"Right," Alec shot back before looking to Simon as they all took to walking briskly. "Simon, you'll probably have to speak some Czech, but I can stand behind you, so just copy whatever I say."

When Simon raised his eyebrows, clearly deterred by this, Isabelle elicited a short noise of amusement. "Best to keep it simple, Alec."

Clary, who had been doing her best to ignore the hostilities and concentrate on the places that were familiar to her from her last visit, sighed loudly. Nobody said anything further.

Heading the group, Isabelle led them down various roads until Clary, flinging an arm out and very nearly hitting Simon, pointed out a holidaymaker spot, thinking that they might find a place either near or amongst the souvenir shops and other tourist traps in which to stay. "Down there," she announced, shielding her eyes from the sun.

Before long and with little difficulty - considering the fact that three out of the four of them were invisible to the mundanes - they managed to navigate the early morning streets and found a handful places that looked promising and all of which, upon closer inspection, looked decidedly rather expensive.

At first, Alec had frowned unhappily, clearly not comfortable with spending money that did not belong to them, however with Isabelle promptly voicing the fact that there was really nothing else they could do, he had given in, albeit begrudgingly.

Decided on a place, Isabelle and Clary hung back a little, allowing Simon to push his way through the crowd with Alec behind him to act as his invisible translator.

"Alright," Simon murmured as all four of them crossed over the threshold into a richly decorated foyer. "Fancy place. Alec, what's Czech for '_I'd like to rent your best suite'_?"

Clary saw Isabelle roll her eyes.

"_Jste debil_." Alec said shortly, inspiring a chime of laughter from his sister, which left both Simon and Clary doubting that Alec had answered with any sort of sincerity. Simon did not ask what Alec had said, but silently decided that he would not repeat the expression to the receptionist as he approached the front desk.

* * *

Jace, who had been alone in the kitchen making coffee, found himself abruptly halting mid action, hand hovering over the kettle. His eyes had flicked out of reflex to the open doorway as a figure rounded the corner. He had been expecting Jonathan of course, not a short white haired female that looked just like him. For a moment, he simply stared before curtly deciding that his coffee was more interesting. "So you're here, then." He commented after a lengthy pause. "That explains the demonic sword on the worktop, at any rate."

"Not really," Lillian said, joining Jace at the counter and reaching for the second cupboard across to pull a mug out. "Jonathan could have summoned it."

Leaning up against the sink, Jace observed her movements; she seemed to know her way around, her actions flowing into one another in a way that suggested she had been living in the apartment for just as long as he had (which wasn't long at all really, but given the fact that this apartment hardly differed from the last, it made navigation easy). Coupled with the fact that Jace himself felt slightly perturbed by the impression that he was looking at a female version of Jonathan, with the only crucial differences besides gender being that of height and hair length, he was not entirely comfortable.

Still, he managed to look indifferent. "Given the complete lack of evidence pertaining to any demonic rituals taking place in our living room as of late, I'm liable to doubt that."

"He could have done it in the basement."

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Jace twisted to dump the remainder of his coffee straight down the kitchen sink. "What he gets up to in the basement," Jace said, "I'd rather not know about."

The noise of footsteps descending the stairs reached the kitchen, announcing Jonathan's arrival before he appeared in the doorway. "Why are we talking about the basement?" he asked by way of greeting, hands busy at a weapons belt around his waist. He was dressed in gear, Jace noted. So was Lillian. Jace abruptly realised that he was missing something, but did not raise the issue.

"Because we were debating the thought of keeping a pet Ravener down there," he answered instead, rinsing his cup under the tap and flicking the excess water out as Lillian rifled through the cutlery drawer.

"In the weapons room?" Jonathan asked, clearly more than used to Jace's sarcasm by now. "How fitting."

"I thought so." Jace said, leaning across to pick up the coffee jar, examining the label and then putting it back down. "Why the hell would anyone want to drink decaf?" he asked of no one in particular.

"For the taste of coffee without the caffeine rush, of course." Jonathan pointed out on his way past Jace, who ignored the comment altogether but watched as Jonathan deftly lifted the demonic sword from the kitchen counter, unsheathing it. "Have you seen this?"

"How could I miss it? It's not exactly compact in size, is it?"

"It's from Lilith," Jonathan said, satisfaction in his voice. The runes along the blade glowed dully and as before, the blade seemed to draw on the natural light in the room, making the air seem thicker and dimmer, somehow.

"She's seems to be giving you a lot, lately," Jace observed dryly. "A sister, a sword. You should ask her for something really useful, like an endless supply of instant coffee or a sense of morality."

"Will you put that away?" Lillian chimed in from Jace's left, displeased black eyes on Jonathan for all her tone was pleasant. "It's turning our living space into a scene from the set of _Apocalypse Now_."

"From what?"

She smiled, stirring her tea and then tossing the spoon into the sink. "It's a movie."

"How do _you_ know that and I don't?" Jonathan asked, casting his gaze over the length of the blade before sheathing it and taking pause as something occurred to him. "Doesn't this sword have a name?"

Lillian regarded him over her mug. "If it does, I don't know it."

"Why would Lilith give us a demonic sword and fail to mention its name?" Jace mused aloud, frowning at the weapon in Jonathan's grip.

"Because it doesn't matter." Jonathan said. "I was asking out of curiosity, not necessity. And for clarity, she gave it to _me,_ not _us_." He set the sword back down onto the counter and for a suspended moment, all three occupants of the kitchen seemed to stare at the dormant object.

Jace was the first to move, muttering something under his breath about caffeine withdrawals and provoking a noise of irritation from Jonathan, who threw an arm out, pointing. "There _is_ instant in that cupboard, you know."

"No," Jace began, looking distinctly happier as he sauntered over to retrieve it. "I didn't know. But that knowledge makes my morning better by a gargantuan amount."

"Well hurry up," Jonathan advised, aimlessly flipping out a kinjal, turning the blade over as if inspecting it.

Already busy with his second mug of coffee, Jace did not look up at first. "Why?" he asked, recalling that both Jonathan and Lillian were wearing gear. "Do you have some poor defenceless individuals you want to disembowel before lunch time?"

"No," Jonathan said, smiling in a way that Jace did not entirely trust, "but we do need to deliver a message to the Clave."

* * *

"Let's _not_ do that again," announced Simon, who had taken it upon himself to slouch down onto the nearest bed as soon as the hotel door was shut behind the four of them.

Alec, taking care of the lock, threw a look Simon's way. "It could have been worse," he commented. "They were curious why you wanted a room for four when they could only see you, that's all. You did fine."

At that, both Simon and Isabelle scoffed at the same time, which ended in an awkward but temporary meeting of their gazes from across the room. Isabelle was the first one to look away, flinging down her seraph blades onto the other bed and then her coat along with them.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Clary asked, one hand propped against the patio door which she had wrenched open, spilling fresh morning air into the room.

"Until nightfall," Alec half-sighed, unbuckling the set of arrows strapped to his back and propping them upright on the surface of a large old fashioned bureau to join his bow. "We have to keep moving. Just in case the Clave _do_ decide to track us."

"They could find us while we're here," Simon said, frowning at the thought.

"I know," Alec said evenly, "but we can't stay on the move forever. We have to rest."

"Clary, you should start thinking about what other places we can go," Isabelle suddenly input, for the first time since they had arrived managing to look more concerned than irate. "If we find nothing here, we need to be out of Prague as soon as possible."

Nodding, Clary moved away from the open patio, sitting at the edge of the bed next to Simon's. "Then Paris next, maybe. We spent a while there." She said, "I don't know after that, though. I'll have to think about it."

"We can't afford to have any maybes, Clary," Alec called out, causing everyone to follow the direction of his voice. He was standing in the open doorway of another room, looking into it. "The other two beds are in here."

Spying Isabelle's things already strewn over the bed which Clary was sitting at the edge of, Simon took the initiative and pushed himself to his feet. "Then I call dibs that that's the boy's room."

"This one is already taken, so _we_ had first dibs." Isabelle said.

"But you didn't call it." Simon pointed out, daring to smile and hoping that it wouldn't inspire yet another glare to be thrown in his direction. It didn't, much to his relief, although Isabelle looked far from her usual pleasantly determined self. As Simon turned away, he noticed than Alec was staring at his sister with something resembling concern on his face, but the moment passed as he moved aside to let Simon enter the room behind.

"I want a shower. Where's the bathroom?" Simon heard Isabelle ask from the next room, followed by the dull thud of her heels on the carpet as she strode across the room, wrenching the only other door open that was situated directly between both bedrooms. The door shut behind her, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

Simon could sense the fact that all three of them wanted to voice their concern, but also that all of them knew it would be moronic to do so when Isabelle was literally only one room and four walls away.

Resisting the urge to heave a sigh that he knew would give him no relief as far as breathing was concerned, Simon instead turned to Alec, who he wasn't entirely comfortable being around, being as the two had not really interacted all that much in the past.

"Which bed do you want?" he asked.

"What?" Alec turned his head, confusion plain in his blue eyes for a moment. Clearly, his mind was still on Isabelle. "Oh. I don't care. Any."

This time, Simon did sigh. Nodding, he sank down onto the bed nearest the window, letting his mind wander away from Isabelle and instead, onto Clary, who he had a mental image of sitting curled up on her bed in the next room, looking small and fragile.

"Simon?"

Until Alec's voice disturbed him, Simon hadn't realised that his eyes had been closed, nor that he was drifting off in light of the quiet morning. He turned to see Alec looking at him with a question in his eyes.

"Did you bring any blood with you?"

Simon pulled on the strap of his bag in reply, which drew a nod of understanding from the eldest Lightwood. "That can't be pleasant for you," Alec said quietly, a note of sympathy in his voice.

Simon shrugged, inwardly appreciative of Alec's concern. "I'll manage." He said, stretching out across the bed and sinking into a comfortable drowsiness almost immediately.

* * *

Clary had left the patio door open but pulled the curtains across in the room she was sharing with Isabelle. After switching beds, given that Isabelle's belongings were strewn across the covers of the one nearest the window, for a good half an hour, she had been lying on her back, head cushioned by a fluffed pillow.

In her hands, she was holding the creased paper bearing the reciprocity rune, staring at it as if it might suddenly present her with an answer to their many dilemmas. It didn't, of course. All she succeeded in doing was managing to burn the image of the new rune into her mind's eye, which was really rather inconvenient when Clary closed her eyes, willing herself to get some rest while she could.

Releasing the page, she tried again to coax rest to her, allowing the image of the rune to fall away from behind her closed eyes and instead, thinking of the next time she would see Jace and hoping beyond reason that he would be _her_ Jace again.

* * *

"Why does she look like you?" Jace asked as he dug into the open wardrobe before him. "It's disturbing." There had been no suitable hunting gear in his own bedroom, so he had been reduced to digging through Jonathan's closet for something suitable. "And why do you have a pink scarf in here? That's even more disturbing."

"It's red," Jonathan countered placidly from where he was lounging across his bed, spying the scarf in question as Jace held it up. "And it is not disturbing."

"It's barely red and it _is_ disturbing." Jace refuted, returning it to the wardrobe and dragging out a jacket instead. "Like her."

"It faded in the wash."

Jace slid into the jacket and turned to regard Jonathan. "What did? Your sister?"

Looking unimpressed, Jonathan shook his head in censure. "Do I look like I'm in the mood for games?"

Jace did up the zip and buckles on the jacket. "When are you ever, unless you're the one playing them?" he asked mildly.

"Precisely, so shut up."

Shrugging, Jace adjusted his weapons belt.

"She looks like me because she was made to mimic my likeness," Jonathan explained shortly. "You'd know all of this already if you'd stayed awake last night like I told you to. Lilith gave her my memories, so it isn't as if things are nearly as inconvenient as you're behaving like they are. She's fully trained and has all the appropriate runes, just like you and me." He paused, a smile coming to his face. "But more like me."

"I never said things were inconvenient," Jace replied, raising his eyebrows.

"I saw your face in the kitchen," Jonathan replied, tone as dark as his eyes. "There are two of me now, angel boy. I suggest you get used to it."

Jace reached behind him to close the wardrobe doors. "Alright, but if I run out of gear again, don't expect me to look in _her_ wardrobe instead of yours." He commented, looking overly mournful. "Even if you do have pink scarves in there."

Jonathan's hand was a blur at his weapons belt, the grin reaching his face a half second before the blade flicked in Jace's direction buried point first up to the hilt through the wardrobe door.

"You missed."

"You moved."

Jace grinned knowingly. "You still would have missed."

* * *

The field Clary stood in was dark, lit only by moonlight. No matter which way she turned her head, there was nothing but the expanse of the space she was in to see in all directions. Despite the huge field, Clary couldn't shake the feeling of being closed in. She shivered, turning about face and abruptly paused.

There were three people standing across from her, utterly motionless and shadowed by the light of the moon. She could only make out the outlines of each individual, their shadows stretching out before them on the grass, but two of them she recognised from stance alone. She tried to move, to step towards them, but found that she could not move her feet. Rooted to the ground, she struggled.

Clary opened her mouth, calling Jace's name. She stared, but he did not move. Clary paused; what if it wasn't Jace, after all? The three figures were stood unnaturally still, unmoving whatsoever. They seemed to be waiting, but waiting for what? For _her_? Yes, that must have been it.

Bewildered, she called to Jace again, sure that it was him, but it was not Jace who answered, albeit not even with words. It was the figure standing next to him. Jonathan, her brother. Slowly, she watched in silence as Jonathan's arm raised, pointing at something behind her. Clary turned slowly, sudden caution seeming to root her even more firmly to the floor and as she did, a great curling shadow loomed up, dark, fierce, biting, howling and -

"_Clary_,"

She opened her eyes.

"Clary, we have to leave soon. It's almost midday." Isabelle, dressed in the same gear from before, was standing over her, pulling her long hair up into a simple ponytail. She frowned. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Heart pounding, Clary pushed her hair from out of her eyes and sat up slowly. "You scared me," she said, rubbing a hand across her eyes.

"Sorry," Isabelle said, "I called three times before I shook you."

"Are Alec and Simon awake?"

Isabelle nodded, hands on her hips.

"Okay," Clary said, blinking away the imprint from her vision of both the roarring shadow from her dream and the reciprocity rune. "Just give me a few minutes."

* * *

**A/N:** I know, I _know_. I made an assumption that Alec knows Czech. I know it's a technicality problem, but come on. Work with me here.  
For anyone curious as to what Alec said to Simon in Czech, various translators (which are probably mournfully wrong, given the unreliability of internet translators) pertain to "_Jste debil_" as meaning, _"You moron".  
_Personally, I don't know if that's right, wrong or just plain ridiculous. If it is wrong and woefully so, if anyone out there can offer a correction, please do. On the flip side, if it happens to be correct, I'll sit here waving my victory flag.  
Last thing before I stop bothering you, consider the lengthy chapter as an apology for the lengthy time between updates. I have no excuse other than I was very unmotivated. Fortunately, a friend of mine left a couple of reviews recently which more than kicked my butt into shape – you know who you are, so thank you, but I'll call you my angel boy, just so it's clear.


	8. A Silhouette of Death

_Dark wings, they are descending  
See shadows gathering around  
One by one, they are falling_

* * *

**A Silhouette of Death**

For the past half an hour now, Jocelyn had been worrying the cell phone in her hand – Clary's cell phone - while pacing the length of the Institute's library.

Three times she had knocked on Clary's door and received no answer and upon finding her nowhere else, countless times she had cursed herself for not anticipating that her daughter might have done something as brash as running off. Had Clary not already proven herself rash over and over? But still, preoccupied with her concern for Luke's health, the blame she felt for Jonathan's actions and also her maternal worry for Clary, Jocelyn had gone beyond her limit. It had only been a matter of time to realise that it wasn't just Clary that had disappeared, but Alec and Isabelle, too.

"It's no good," Maryse's sharp voice carried as she breezed in through the open library doors, joining Jocelyn. "I called Magnus Bane," she explained in a voice just as severe, coming to a stop and leaning heavily onto the littered library desk. "He says he hasn't seen any of them since we left the battlefield."

Jocelyn turned Clary's phone over in her small hands. "I called Simon while you were gone," she said, holding the phone aloft.

"Simon?" Maryse's brow furrowed for a moment before ironing out in realisation. "The vampire," she said. "Nothing?"

Jocelyn nodded. "No answer."

"This is ridiculous," Maryse said for what must have been the tenth time since her and Jocelyn had come to realise their children were missing. "What in the name of the Angel were they thinking? There is no evidence pertaining to where Jace or Sebastian may be. What makes any of them think they can just saunter off without-"

There was a brisk and loud rapping of knuckles upon one of the open library doors, earning the attention of both Maryse's sharp eyes and Jocelyn's anxious ones.

A tall, broad shouldered, dark haired man stood in the doorway, hand raised against the door upon which he had knocked. "Maryse Lightwood?" he asked, voice deep and ever so slightly betraying a French accent.

"Yes," Maryse said shortly. "Are you…"

"The representative from the Clave you are expecting, yes." he said, stepping further into the room. Under the light, it was easier to see his deep set eyes and angled jaw, making him seem much more imperious as he stepped forward, head high and chin set. "I came as quickly as I could."

Recovering herself, Maryse moved around the desk, coming to a standstill near Jocelyn. "We have been expecting you for the better part of two hours." She said in an reproving sort of voice.

"I apologise," the man said, shrugging his shoulders and in so doing, brushing off the haughtiness in Maryse's words. "The Council spoke at length before deciding to act. There were quarrels over who to send. I volunteered, you see."

Jocelyn raised her head curiously. "And why did you volunteer?"

"Because, Jocelyn Morgenstern, I am a Verlac," the man replied imperiously, turning his piercing dark eyes on Jocelyn. "And before your son murdered him, Sebastian was my nephew."

* * *

"This is such a waste of _time_," Isabelle seethed, turning yet another corner at a pace that had Simon almost jogging to keep up. The speed didn't bother him of course, but Isabelle's mood decidedly did.

"Haven't we been down this road?" Simon asked quietly just as Isabelle halted in her tracks, apparently realising the same thing.

"Yes," she said, turning to double back. "Why don't you take that road?" she suggested, pointing Simon down a long bustling street. "I'll go down the next one and we'll meet where they end."

Simon furrowed his brow at the proposal. "We shouldn't split up, Izzy."

"It's faster." Isabelle protested.

"I know, but-"

"But what?"

"What if something happens?"

"Like what?" Isabelle huffed. "You're a vampire. You can take care of yourself."

"I'm not worried for me." Simon retorted, taking care to lower his voice when a passing group of mundanes threw him a curious glance.

Isabelle seemed to waver, albeit slightly. "You're worried for me?"

"Of course I am."

"I can take care of myself," she said, lifting her chin in a display of pride and confidence that Simon had grown used to.

"You can't if you run into Sebastian." he said hotly.

"I won't." Isabelle scoffed, but seemed to consider Simon's words. "Okay," she sighed, "we'll stick together. But only because Alec would be unbearable if he found out we _had_ split up."

As they continued on down the next road, Simon smiled knowingly. Walking side by side for the first time since they had left the hotel, the both of them were silent for a long while until Isabelle spoke up, breaking the silence as they turned down the next street.

"I've been snappy with you just lately, haven't I?" she said very casually.

Simon fought the urge to agree with enthusiasm. "Sort of," he said as nonchalantly as he could manage, earning a tell-tale glance from Isabelle, who clearly knew precisely what he was thinking.

She almost smiled; _almost._ "I'm sorry," she breathed, stepping around a laughing mundane child as he ran straight into her path. "Alec told me about him and Magnus and it got me thinking about…well, you and me." She said, somewhat uncomfortably.

Simon pulled a face, clearly not understanding. "Him and Magnus?" he repeated.

Isabelle seemed to fold in on herself emotionally. "They broke up."

"What?" Simon barked, gawking at Isabelle in genuine shock. Again, a passing mundane stopped to stare at him, making the still glamoured Isabelle laugh despite her sullen mood. Simon muttered an apology that he knew the glaring mundane would not understand, realising what a complete psycho he must have appeared before hurrying off down the road with Isabelle, who was still laughing as he caught up.

"So, what happened with Alec and Magnus?" he asked.

Isabelle adjusted her ponytail, all evidence of humour falling away as she considered how much of her brother's business it was right to share with Simon. "Just, you know…disagreements over some stuff."

Simon, who had a feeling that this was not the truth, or perhaps just a small version of whatever the whole of it was, furrowed his eyebrows.

The last time he had seen Magnus was during the battle against Sebastian and his army of not-really-Shadowhunter's-anymore. He knew that Magnus had been hurt during the chaos and Simon had briefly seen both Alec and Isabelle tending to the warlock. Since then, he had happened across Alec while on his way home from the Institute. He recalled the sombre and distracted mood Alec had been in, suddenly understanding that his breakup with Magnus must have been the cause. Sympathy for the eldest Lightwood rushed through Simon and when he raised his head, it was to find Isabelle staring at him.

"Alec was worried because he's mortal and Magnus is immortal," she told him, eyes fierce, "which is the same as you and me."

Simon stopped walking. "I suppose it is," he said quietly, stunned.

"It just made me think," Isabelle went on, "about the future and about what could happen to us."

"Because I'm going to live forever." Simon said, suddenly feeling the weight of immortality all over again. "And you're not."

Stiffly, Isabelle nodded. "I'm just so upset for Alec." she announced, biting her lip. "I know how much he loved Magnus, and-" Cursing, she cut herself off, eyes shining.

Simon stepped closer. "Isabelle-"

"There you are!" It was Clary, closely followed by Alec, who Isabelle immediately noticed, had his bow strung, but held low to the ground.

"What's the matter?" she asked, her emotions falling away as she became once again, a warrior, pulling her whip free from where it was coiled around her wrist and darting dark eyes around fiercely.

"Don't bother," Alec signalled with a hand. "We're fine. We thought we saw something back there, but we didn't."

Dubiously, Isabelle glared at him. "What kind of something?"

"Something blonde, black eyed and known as Sebastian." He said. "But unless he's grown his hair out by about 12 inches in the last few days and found a way to change gender, I really doubt it was him."

Isabelle's panic immediately subsided. "Oh."

Clary however, still looked troubled. Simon turned to face her. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Clary said, though not altogether truthfully. "Did you two find anything?"

"Only a whole lot of nothing." said Simon, shrugging his hands into his jeans.

"Then we'll try another part of the city." Alec said, returning the arrow to its holster, followed by his bow.

"Can't we eat first?" Isabelle complained. "We've been walking around in circles for nearly three hours."

Alec nodded distractedly. "I suppose."

Simon groaned. "Great. It's no wonder half of Prague thinks I'm insane. Now I have to order food for three invisible people as well as pretend I'm not talking to myself."

For the third time that afternoon, Simon instantly became aware of the surrounding people of Prague staring at him, some with quizzical expressions and others with plain confusion, but most with the clear accusation of insanity in their eyes.

"You're doing a great job." Alec commented.

Isabelle chuckled.

* * *

"Are we really going to do this in broad daylight?" Jace mused from where he was leant up against the wall opposite Jonathan. They were back on the streets of Prague, standing at the mouth of a disused and shaded alley, just far enough into the shadows to give the illusion of privacy.

"Zazual doesn't mind the daylight." Lillian provided from Jace's right side, which made Jace look down in the same way he would have done if Clary were beside him.

"I know that." Jace said. "I meant that it's just really rather difficult not to be conspicuous in broad daylight about this sort of thing."

"This '_sort of thing'_?" Jonathan quoted, face shadowed. "Used to committing mass murder in daylight already, are you?"

"Well, with you around, it's become something of a regular occurrence you see." Jace said. "Right along with the lack of a sleeping pattern and short blonde people from Hell."

Lillian nudged him.

"That isn't to say I'm not entirely used to being around people from Hell, by now." He added, earning unimpressed glances from both Jonathan and Lillian, neither of whom said anything for a while.

Shifting his stance, Jonathan levelled black eyes on Jace. "Who says we're from Hell anyway, angel boy?"

"My good friend logic." Jace supplied, leaning further back into the wall at his spine. "You know - the same one who is of the opinion that this isn't the sort of thing to do in the daytime."

Jonathan cursed in annoyance. "Why are you so against it? Are you afraid we'll get caught?" he sneered, though left no pause for Jace to reply. "We'll be gone long before the Clave is even aware."

Jace shrugged casually. "It stands to reason that if you're going to commit atrocity, you should at least have the decency to do it at night."

Now, both Jonathan and Lillian were starting to look more than a little irritated. From Jace's left, Lillian spoke in a falsely bright tone. "Well, you can be the one to tell Zazual that the deal is off once he arrives, Jace. How about that?"

"I beg your pardon, little Shadowhunter?" The deep bass growl of a voice seemed to appear within the surrounding air, as if from nowhere.

Instantly, all three of them touched hands to armaments, alert and searching for a source – something there didn't appear to be any indication of. The growling, joined by a noise that was apparently meant to echo human laughter, drifted around them like invisible smoke.

"Oh, enough." Jonathan spoke up, almost as if bored. "There is no change of plans, Zazual. We are still in need of your services."

"I'm so pleased." Zazual's voice, now a resounding hiss, seemed to draw upon its own echo to a particular point, drawing all three sets of eyes as almost gracefully, a barely human shape shimmered like glittered smoke into existence, at least ten feet away from them, rippling in gentle waves.

"There are plenty of mundanes for you to enjoy." Jonathan said, eyes glittering unpleasantly. "Do what you agreed to do and I shan't kill you afterward."

"Of course." Flourishing a bow that was as mocking as it was brief, Zazual wasted no more time. With a smell like rotting flesh that increased as the demon drifted overhead, he surged into the crowd.

"I feel like this is going to turn into more trouble than it's worth." Jace said decisively, watching as Zazual mingled within the crowd, turning fluidly into an opaque sort of mist as he mingled amongst the mundanes, drawing curious glances and pauses from people as they silently wondered what invisible force had touched them.

"He didn't look like that when I met with him." Lillian stated, stepping forward to keep the demon in view.

"He's capable of shape shifting." Jonathan reminded, rapping his knuckles against the metal buckle of his belt, clearly eager to see whatever was about to happen. "And I suppose it helps him to preserve his energy for-"

But what Zazual was meant to be preserving his energy for clearly did not need to be said aloud. The shrieking of a woman instantly stole all attention of anyone and everyone in the vicinity, almost immediately joined by several other screams and yells as slowly, panic seemed to set in as the crowd dispersed, shoving at one another in a mass scramble to get away.

From where they stood, it was difficult to see just what had caused such abandon until the crowd, dispersing and tearing away like wildfire, cleared a gap large enough for them to see just what had set off such an uproar.

There, in the centre of the street, stood Zazual; no longer vague or made up of smoke, but in the huge, talon bearing form that Lillian recalled from a couple of days before. Rearing up to his full height, sticky dark red blood flowing from his spiked hand, Zazual held the lifeless – and pierced – body of a mundane man. Stabbed through the abdomen, Zazual seized the body up as if it were a prize, his huge dripping mouth stretched into what was supposedly a smile.

Lillian smiled gently, leaning around the alley wall. "He gets full marks for theatrics."

Jace opened his mouth to reply but a sudden and monstrous howling cut him off as Zazual, finished brandishing his first kill like a trophy, flung the dripping corpse sideways, where it smashed heavily into an outdoor book display.

"Odd how many people insist on lingering to watch, isn't it?" Jonathan queried, smiling darkly.

"We're lingering to watch." Jace pointed out with lucid aversion.

"We have a reason to."

"I wonder what the mundanes can see," Lillian input, black eyes fixed on the gory display as Zazual continued to make fast and bloody work of the mundanes, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups of three or four.

"Some psychotic guy with weapons, probably." Jonathan said.

Jace threw Jonathan a glance – mainly because it meant he could take his eyes away from the blood and terror in the street for a moment. "There you go talking about yourself again." He said, though somewhat stiffly.

Jonathan grinned; visibly, he was far too into the brutal chaos to allow Jace's comments to irritate him. Shrinking back against the alley wall, Jace decided that he could just about make do with the unearthly noises that accompanied mass bloodshed, but not the sight of it. Not anymore, at least. Eventually, he came to concentrate on the sounds that he couldn't hear – such as the lack of screaming mundanes, or the audible tearing of flesh, blood and tissue. Almost daring to hope that it was over, he raised his head, finding the looming form of Zazual lurking a few feet away, again drifting in and out of a smoke form that occasionally mimicked a human shape.

"Are you satisfied?" he hissed.

Judging by the smile on both Jonathan and Lillian's faces, Jace considered the question to be quite ridiculous, but Jonathan nodded regardless of this. "Quite."

Zazual drifted backwards. "Then I take my leave."

Jonathan didn't bother waiting to see the demon dissolve into nothingness, but grinning with satisfaction, he did shoot Jace a look. "See that, angel boy? Nothing to worry about."

"There are more effective ways to deliver a message." Jace said, distaste clearly written into both his voice and face.

Jonathan looked amused. "You look pale."

"You look psychotic." Jace commented, staring at him.

Still smiling fondly, Lillian turned, putting herself between Jace and her brother. "He just needs a good night's sleep. We all do, as a matter of fact."

"That isn't going to happen." Jonathan said. "We're going out tonight."

"We are?" Jace asked, voice lacking any enthusiasm whatsoever.

"Of course we are. We should rest up when we get back." He advised, though visibly, he looked far too energetic and buzzed to even consider a thing such as rest.

Jace merely nodded his acquiescence, shrugging away from the wall as they all proceeded to follow the length of the alley, boots echoing loudly in the narrow space. Trailing behind as Jonathan and Lillian began to chatter animatedly, Jace was left to consider the real possibility that if he did close his eyes to sleep, he would likely see the painted horror and bloodshed from Zazual's killing spree. Feeling more tired than he had done in a long time, he tried to replace the thought with memories of Clary, but realising that he had no idea when he would see her again, gave way instead to feeling both drained and slightly defeated.

* * *

**A/N**: Poor, poor Jace. Very short authors note because it is now past 3am and I need to go and collapse. Review, review, review. Opening lyrics from "Dark Wings" by Within Temptation. Goodnight. ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.


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